Reflections of Another Universe remastered
by startraveller776
Summary: The mirror universe crew of the NX-01 go on a mission to rescue a captured member of the crew… while trying to keep a mutiny on ship at bay. T'Pol is assigned to interrogate the captive Commander Tucker. TnT heavy
1. CAPTIVE

**Reflections of Another Universe—**_2__nd__ Edition_

_Rating_: T for mild violence, language and some sexual situations  
_Disclaimer_: Paramount owns Star Trek and the characters therein, all other original material is the property of the owner—even though I don't make money from this!  
_Genre_: Mirror Universe, _Alternate Universe_, Action & Angst  
_Archive_: Please ask first, (misplacedagain at hotmail dot com)  
_Spoilers_: "_In a Mirror, Darkly_" – sort of

**A/N: **I originally wrote this fic in 2005 based solely on the spoilers for IaMD. At that time I only knew that Tucker had a scar and the MU characters would not be interacting with their RU counterparts. I've cleaned up this fic (hence the 2nd edition) – fixed errors and smoothed out some rough spots, but it still probably isn't as polished as I would like.

Enjoy my _alternate_ version of the Mirror Universe!

_(Yes, for those who have read this fic before, I _am_ currently writing the sequel!)_

* * *

**Chapter One**—_CAPTIVE _

_**i.**_

"Sonofabitch!"

The room was warm—too warm for his human tastes, but Trip supposed that he wasn't meant to be comfortable. He ignored the sweat beading on his neck and back, soaking his undershirt. Instead, he had his hands deep inside the wall, feeling out the wiring and components. His fingers traced the paths that the cabling went as far as the hole would allow him to. Nothing made any sense. It was all so damned alien.

He hit another dead-end. Another end to his escape plans. In a fury, he picked up the rust-colored panel that he'd manage to pry from the wall and threw it against the door—letting out a primal growl. It struck with a loud bang and clattered to the floor without making a dent.

It pretty much represented the futility that Trip was feeling right now. He sat down on his sparse bunk, unconsciously rubbing the long scar that puckered his right cheek. He knew there had to be some way within those walls to trigger the brig door. There had to be some way to escape before the Vulcans tortured and killed him. Trip wasn't going to go without a fight.

He mentally reviewed what he had discovered so far, noting all the false leads. His brilliant mind began deducing new possibilities. Maybe that wall there or maybe the ceiling… He was formulating his next plan of attack when the door abruptly opened with a quiet swish.

Trip groaned inwardly, frustrated that he would have to delay his plans now. It was time for another dance of pointless questioning. He looked up at his inquisitor and was startled to find not the usual, tall stoic male Vulcan. It was a petite female, strikingly beautiful despite her pointed ears and up swept brow.

_Well, that's something new, _he thought to himself, unconsciously licking his lip.

She took in the small room before turning to face him with a steely gaze. "It is illogical to attempt to escape in this manner," she spoke with a rich voice. For a brief second, he wondered if she had somehow read his mind. He thought he heard somewhere that her species had telepathic ability.

She continued, "The components necessary for opening the door are not housed within the cell walls."

"It's something to pass time, darlin'," he said with a snort. _So, it bothers you that I make such a mess, does it?_ he mused. What was that? Did he just see a flicker in her eyes? Was she annoyed? No, he reminded himself, Vulcans don't have feelings.

"Charles Tucker the Third," she read off of a device in her hand that bore a slight resemblance to a PADD.

_And commence the interrogation_, he smirked as he leaned against the wall. Since his capture, he had been questioned almost every hour it seemed. At least this time he had a pretty face to look at during his interrogation. She would have been quite breathtaking… if she wasn't his captor. _Damn Vulcans_, he thought as he brought himself back into the moment.

"Why was your ship in this sector of space?" she asked. It was the same question every time. Not that he expected anything else but, still, it was getting tedious.

He gave her an enigmatic grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "That's my little secret, darlin'." There it was again, that flicker in her eyes. On second thought, this may turn out to be more interesting than he'd originally thought.

She stepped closer to him and looked down on him with a face of stone. "Surely, you must understand that cooperation would be in your best interest." She stated the fact coldly.

He chuckled at her, the thought of _'like hell!_' prevalent in his mind. "Whatever do you mean? I like things just the way they are, sweetheart." Again, he saw a fiery glint flickered in her eyes. Oh yes, this was definitely the most interesting interrogation that he's had so far.

"Mister Tucker—"

"Commander."

"Commander Tucker." There was another twitch around her eyes. "Commander Tucker, my name is Sub-commander T'Pol. I would prefer it if you would address me as such."

"Oh, really?" asked Trip, loving how agitated she seemed to be getting.

"Really, Commander."

"Only if you say please."

Her jaw tightened. "Please, Commander," she responded through slightly clenched teeth.

There was no way in hell that he was going to play nice, but he still answered, "All right, I'll do my best."

She stared at him as if trying to gauge his honesty. _Pretty eyes_, he thought, _such deep olive green that they could be mistaken for brown_. Then he reminded himself that they were Vulcan eyes.

"I repeat my question: what was your ship doing in this sector?"

"And I repeat my answer: none of your damn business," he replied with a look he knew would intimidate most humans.

T'Pol was nonplussed. "Commander, it is my 'business,' as you say. This is Vulcan space. What were you doing in this sector?"

Trip was tired of being asked this same question three times in the course of ten minutes. He leered at her. "Maybe I was just looking for a nice piece of Vulcan ass, like yours."

She backhanded him with more force than he thought any woman, human or Vulcan, capable of. He tasted blood in his mouth and he was sure that she had fractured his cheekbone. Despite the excruciating pain, Trip couldn't help grinning like an idiot. _Vulcans can be cracked_. It took him a moment to realize that she was leaving.

"I guess this means that I won't be seeing you again," he said as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Undoubtedly," she replied without turning to face him. She signaled for the door to be opened.

"That's too bad," he said, "I kinda like you."

She stiffened—if a Vulcan could stiffen more—as she stepped through the doorway. She glanced back over her shoulder briefly just as the door was closing. Trip was sure he saw that fiery glint in her eyes once more. He was also sure that he would demand that she be her interrogator from now on.

_Let the games begin_, he thought as his deep laughter echoed off of the walls.

* * *

_**ii.**_

T'Pol stood on the other side of the door, caressing her green-tinged hand and flexing her fingers. It was stinging quite painfully. She could hear his laughter through the walls and it was… disturbing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the guards looking at her expectantly. She shook her head slightly and his eyes darkened.

This was the first time that they had found humans in Vulcan space since the "Terran Accords" were established some forty years previous.

The Vulcans had made first contact with Earth when the humans had achieved their first successful warp flight. The relationship had been amicable enough at first, even with the humans being far less advanced technologically than the Vulcans. The Vulcans assumed a mentoring role, but the humans desired to progress faster than the Vulcans counseled. Eventually the humans bristled under the Vulcan advisers and threw them off of Earth. Shortly after, the "Terran Accords" were reached and territory lines were drawn.

Between the recent Syrannite revolution and keeping the Andorians at bay, Vulcans had little time or interest in the activities of the humans.

It had been a surprise when, while on a routine tour of the L'Prin system deep in Vulcan space, they discovered a human warp ship. There had been weapons fired on both sides and eventually the human ship retreated. Only after that did the Vulcans discover a shuttlecraft on one of the moons with a small team of three humans.

The Vulcans gleaned as much data as they could from the shuttlecraft's computer, but there were no answers to the mission of the humans. The humans had now been in custody for their second day, and none of them were providing any answers either.

T'Pol had questioned all three of them, Commander Tucker last. They had all been rude and uncooperative. However, she found questioning the commander more… bothersome. Perhaps it was just a culmination of the behaviors of the three of them that caused her to act out physically. Still, she had been in situations that could produce anything resembling discomfort far worse than what she felt when interrogating the commander, and had kept a cool head.

Odd.

She decided a cup of tea and some meditation was in order.

* * *

_**iii.**_

Captain Jonathan Archer sat at his desk fuming. He held a PADD in his hand, but he wasn't so much looking at it as burrowing holes through it. Jon was angry and someone was going to pay. The door chimed and he slammed the comm button with the palm of his hand.

"Who is it?"

"_Lieutenant Reed,_" answered the voice over the speaker.

_Great_, thought Archer. _What does the little upstart want now? _"You may enter."

The door slid open to reveal the dark-haired Englishman. He was wearing his usual cold expression. Jon and Trip had speculated, during some of their more drunken moments, on whether or not Reed wore that same expression while making love. The images it brought to mind made for raucous laughter.

"What is it?" Jon demanded roughly.

"We've returned to the coordinates, and the Vulcan ship is gone."

Jon felt a glimmer of relief, but quickly chastised himself. The Vulcan bastards had crippled his ship temporarily, but that was no reason to fear them—he should be eager to repay them for the kindness. Jon hardened his face, concerned that Reed might have noticed the momentarily lapse. The security chief was an ambitious little man that would exploit any weakness in his commanding officer.

"And the shuttlepod—Commander Tucker?" he asked.

Reed hesitated only slightly, but not before Archer noticed. "The shuttle is missing as well as Commander Tucker and his team."

Jon slammed his fist against the desk, toppling a stack of PADDs. "Dammit!"

"Sir, I think we have to assume that the Vulcans have killed the away team." There was a hint of hope in Reed's voice, and it grated on Jon.

He stood up and walked over to the lieutenant, using his height to tower over him. "Lieutenant Reed." He spoke in a quiet but steely voice. "I didn't ask for speculation."

"I understand, sir," replied Reed through his teeth, a scowl plainly on his face.

Jon stared him down a moment longer. "Good." He sat back down at his desk. "Have our sensors picked up their warp trail?"

"Yes."

"Then why the hell are you standing there? Dismissed."

Reed brought his fist to his heart and bowed his head slightly before he left the room. Jon crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw muscles flexing. He was going to find that Vulcan ship, and get his first officer back.

And if the bastards had killed Trip, he was going to give them a lesson in revenge.


	2. MANEUVERS

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language)_

* * *

**Chapter Two**—_MANEUVERS _

_**i.**_

T'Pol sat at the table quietly sipping her tea. She was distracted by the thoughts of her earlier encounter with the human commander. It disturbed her that he could make her feel—_feel_? There was that odd thought again. She dismissed it as she had before. She was a Vulcan, and very adept in her emotional control.

It was clear that he had made some sort of derogatory remark to her, and though she wasn't quite sure what "a nice piece of ass" meant, the lecherous look on his face was explanation enough. She also was uncertain why she had resorted to physical violence at his comment. Perhaps it was because humans seemed to understand that method better than vocal communication. Yes, that must be the reason she struck him. Still… inside she felt—wait, there was that word again. Strange. This Commander Tucker had brought an emotion very close to the surface. It was a unique experience—a dangerous experience.

T'Pol pondered this for a moment, considering how illogical it was for her meeting with this human to have affected her in this manner. She realized that she most likely would not be interacting with him again. She took small comfort in the thought, however. There was a part of her that found the encounter intriguing.

Illogical.

"You have met with the human leader." The voice of her commanding officer startled her out of her musings. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed when Koss had entered the room.

"Indeed," she replied, "unfortunately he was no more forthcoming than in previous interrogations." She noticed the disappointment in his eyes, even if it didn't register on his face.

His view dropped to her hand. "Did he injure you?" The concern in his voice was evident, and she knew that it was not just as the ship's commander. He was also her betrothed, to be married when her tour aboard the V'Laran was complete. She enjoyed their working relationship well enough, but she had yet to develop any real attachment to him. That was irrelevant, however, she reminded herself. Vulcan marriages were arranged in childhood.

"No," she answered, "the human commander required… corporeal discipline."

Koss raised his eyebrows at this. There hadn't been any problems when others had questioned Commander Tucker before her. He left the question unasked, and T'Pol found herself more than a little relieved.

"Perhaps it is time that I question the human," he said as he stood to leave. She gave him a slight nod, and returned to sipping her tea. As he exited, she idly wondered what Koss' experience with Commander Tucker would be like.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Trip sat in his bunk picking at the food that the Vulcans had given him. The first day he had refused to eat—he was sure they were going to poison or drug him. The guards had seemed concerned, oddly enough, when he returned his plates untouched. The second day, one of the guards brought Trip's scanner with his meal and allowed him to scan it. (Of course, the guard wouldn't allow Trip to keep the scanner. _Vulcan Bastards_—that was becoming his mantra.) After that, Trip would eat their food, if he could scan it first. He had considered that they might have tampered with his scanner, but he doubted it.

Besides, he was beginning to believe that he was worth more to the Vulcans alive than dead. At the same time, the thought of eventual torture had come to mind.

The door opened and for a moment Trip found himself hoping it was the Vulcan woman again. He was disappointed when a tall, regal-looking Vulcan male entered. _Well now_, Trip thought, _this must be the captain_. For just a second, he regretted his remarks to the female, sure that there was going to be hell to pay now.

_So be it_, he thought as he steeled himself for a beating.

The Vulcan's eyes lighted on Trip's cheek. "Do you require medical attention?" he asked in a quiet voice.

Now Trip was confused, medical attention? "What? This little thing?" he said as he touched his cheek. "It's nothing. I can hardly feel it." Of course that was a lie—it took all he had not to wince as he spoke

"Very well," the Vulcan replied, though looking as if he didn't believe Trip, "Commander Tucker, is it?"

"The one and only—living that is."

"What were you doing in this sector of space?"

Trip rolled his eyes, and groaned inwardly. Chinese water torture was beginning to look like fun compared to this mundane repetition. "What's your name?" he asked. The Vulcan raised his eyebrow at the question. Trip sighed. "I'm a little shy—I don't talk to strangers."

"I am Commander Koss."

"Koss, okay. Do you know what the definition of 'crazy' is?"

"I fail to see the relevance—"

"Just bear with me, okay?" Trip interrupted. "The definition of 'crazy' is doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results."

Koss was quiet as he considered Trip's words. "I see. Are you implying that we should try a different line of questioning?"

Trip smiled. "Now you're catching on."

"Perhaps if you would enlighten us as to what line of questioning we should pursue…"

"Ah… now, that I can't tell you."

Koss' lips pursed faintly, but Trip cold tell that it was because the Vulcan was thinking rather than getting frustrated. No, he wasn't getting to Koss like he was able to do with the woman. _What was her name again?_

"T'Pol"

"T'Pol?" Koss raised his eyebrows.

Trip grimaced. He hadn't realized that he'd spoken her name out loud. "Uh, yeah," he stammered, wondering why his face was burning. "I'll talk to T'Pol—only T'Pol."

Koss was quiet again. "I'll consider it," he said as he turned to walk out of the brig.

Trip couldn't help but smile. He might have just won a small victory.

* * *

_**iii.**_

Jon walked onto the bridge wearing a scowl. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hoshi and Reed glance at one another. The exchange added to the growing suspicion he had about the two of them. He wasn't surprised. Reed's determination to get ahead knew no bounds, and Hoshi had a fiery spark in her. It had made love-making with her exciting. Jon had never really harbored any idea that she had loyalties to him. Even so, Reed would need to learn not to mess with the captain's woman.

"Status," he demanded as he sat in his chair.

"The warp trail appears to be leading to Vulcan, sir," answered Reed.

"Ensign Sato?"

"We're too far away to monitor any communications."

Jon pressed a button on his chair. "Lieutenant Kelby."

"_Yes, sir,"_ the engineer answered on the comm, sounding annoyed.

"We need to go faster."

"_The engines can't take it,"_ Kelby snapped back.

"I didn't ask for excuses, Kelby. Make it happen." Jon was aware that everyone on the bridge could hear the unspoken '_or else_' in his voice. He switched off the comm before Kelby could protest further. "Ensign Mayweather, increase speed to warp factor five."

"Yes, sir" the young man answered with a feral grin. The boy seemed to thrive on speed and danger. Jon liked that in a pilot. He also liked that Mayweather's greatest ambition seemed to be to fly this ship, nothing more—unlike the Brit in the back of the bridge.

"All right," he said as he stood, "I'll be in my quarters. Let me know if anything changes." As he stepped off the bridge, he began to calculate what he might do about Hoshi and Reed.


	3. UNCERTAINTY

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language & violence)_

* * *

**Chapter Three**—_UNCERTAINTY_

_**i.**_

Trip slept fitfully. His body was tensing, sweat gleaming on his skin…

_He was lying on his back, unable to move. His eyes were closed, but somehow he could still see. He felt naked, covered only in a sheet and something was on his forehead. He was in a bright room surrounded by blue-gray curtains. One of the curtains pulled back to reveal the Denobulan doctor, Phlox, who looked down on him with brilliant, cold blue eyes._

_The rest seemed to happen in slow motion as Phlox raised his hand, revealing a large, jagged dagger. Phlox brought it high above his head, holding it with both of his hands. Trip tried to moved, tried to call out, but he lay completely still as Phlox brought the knife down on his chest. The pain sucked the air from his lungs as everything went black. He heard a voice as if from far away above the din of loud screeching alarms:_

"_What have you done?"_

Trip shot bolt upright in his bed, gasping for breath. His hand instinctively went to his chest. Relief washed over him when he found it whole. It wasn't the first time he'd had this dream, or even the hundredth, but it still disturbed him.

He rubbed his eyes. It must still be night. The cell was dark, lit only through the small window in the door. The Vulcans would dim the lights each "night" and raise them gradually each "morning." Trip actually thought it was a good idea. On the _Enterprise_, the lights around the ship were at full strength at all times. Without a chronometer, it was sometimes difficult to tell when a day had passed. Come to think of it, Trip was pretty sure that Archer liked it that way. But, there was something to be said for Vulcan logic—at least in this case.

Trip looked up, and saw a shadow in the window. When he stood to take a closer look the shadow disappeared. _Probably my mind playing tricks on me_, he thought as he rubbed his eyes again.

Probably.

Being nowhere near sleep, Trip decided that it was as good a time as any to resume his attack on the brig.

* * *

_**ii.**_

T'Pol walked down the hallway wondering what had brought her to the brig in the first place. She had watched the human sleep, and was startled when he had awakened so suddenly. For a moment, she illogically thought that her presence had brought him out of his rest.

_Of course not_, she chastised herself. Humans were not telepathic. She knew that, and yet….

_This is ridiculous_, she berated herself.

How can the human produce this effect in her? What was it about this Commander Tucker that had her thoughts so confused?

Koss had come to her after his discussion with the human and told her of Commander Tucker's demand. Koss left the decision to her, although he was clearly concerned. She hadn't decided yet. That must be why she had gone to the brig—to aid her in making that decision.

Yes, that must be it. What other reason could there be?

She decided that she would continue interrogating the human. If he had said that she was the only one he was willing to talk to, then it was the only logical course of action. A strange and new tingling sensation began in the pit of her stomach

* * *

_**iii.**_

Jon lay in his bed, a dim light illuminating his book, _Julius Caesar_. The book was worn and almost coming apart at the seams. He thought of it as a good warning to anyone in power: _Trust no one_.

With Trip gone, and now Hoshi possibly conspiring against him, the captain was beginning to feel like his allies were getting weaker. He loathed the idea of making more, but if the damned Vulcans had indeed killed Trip, he would have to.

The door chime buzzed, and he sighed. He knew who it was, and he wasn't in the mood. Tonight he needed rest. He needed a clear head in order to deal with Malcolm and the Vulcans. The door chimed again. He got up, clad only in black underclothes. Hoshi would get angry if she had to press the button three times. Sometimes he let her push the button several times before he answered. It made things wild… but not tonight.

When he opened the door, Hoshi stood before him wearing a silk robe, and a pout. He leaned against the door frame and sighed.

"What? You don't want to play?" she asked as she pushed past him and into the room.

He let the door close, but he didn't move. She smiled at him wickedly as she let her robe drop, revealing red lingerie that he hadn't seen before. He wondered if Reed would see it later. Jon kind of liked the idea that the security officer would at least get the captain's seconds… or did he? The thought that Hoshi might visit Reed first infuriated Jon.

She must have noticed the change in his expression as her smile dropped a notch. "Oh, so it's going to be one of those nights," she said as he walked up to her.

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up against him, hard. He leaned over, and spoke in her ear softly, but in a voice that made her shiver. "Where were you before you came here?"

Her breath caught, and he could feel a chill go down her body. "My quarters, of course."

"Before that?" he asked in a dark whisper.

Hoshi tried to pull away, but he held her firm. "The bridge, you paranoid bastard!" Oh, she was angry now. Too bad she couldn't hide the faint tremor in her voice.

So, he was getting Reed's seconds. Jon would take that—for now. He would use that knowledge to his advantage. He grabbed a fistful of Hoshi's hair, yanking her head back and pressed his mouth over hers. When he finally let her go, she slapped him across the face.

He smiled. He was in the mood after all.

* * *

_**iv.**_

In Engineering, Lieutenant Kelby was in the second leg of his double shift and fairly angry. The captain had wanted to go faster, but couldn't care less that the crew had to pull double and triple duty to keep the engines from blowing up.

In fact, Commander Tucker had never cared either. Kelby found himself hoping that the Vulcans had killed the chief Engineer. He had thought of challenging Tucker himself at times, but in truth the man scared him.

_Any man who would be able to… _Kelby shuddered. Even the captain was afraid of him, at least that was the rumor.

As Kelby was checking the stress on the engines, he heard the doors open. Reed stepped into the room with the grace of a poised wildcat. He searched the room with his eyes until they settled on Kelby. A beguiling smile lit up his face as he walked over to the young man.

"Hello, Lieutenant," said Reed cordially. "How is your evening going?"

Kelby gave him a rueful grin. "As well as can be expected, under the circumstances."

"Have you had dinner yet?"

Kelby barked a laugh. _Dinner?_ Had he even had lunch? Breakfast? "Uh, no, sir."

"I see," replied Reed, crossing his arms. "Perhaps you should take a break."

Kelby looked at the security chief, and knew that wasn't just a suggestion. He was a little wary about meeting with Reed, having avoided the major politics on the _Enterprise_ during the last year. You choose the wrong side, and it could blow up in your face, literally.

Kelby may not like the captain or Tucker, but that didn't mean he liked Reed. He knew this was coming eventually, though. Once Tucker was gone the balance of power shifted, but the question was: was the shift significant enough? Kelby supposed that he was about to find out.

"All right," he said.


	4. ATTRACTION

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language)_

* * *

**Chapter Four**—_ATTRACTION_

_**i.**_

Trip sat in his bunk with a handful of cabling in his hands. Vulcan technology was different, but there had still been some information on Earth leftover from the time when Vulcans and humans had been friends. Trip, with his insatiable appetite for understanding how things worked, had come across some old books about Vulcan technology as a boy. It was one thing to read about it in a book, and it was another to actually work with it.

The door opened and he grinned when he saw that it was T'Pol. She stepped in the room stiffly, wrinkling her nose a little. He remembered that the mess in the cell seemed to bother her on her last visit. Already things were getting fun.

"Guess you couldn't get enough of me," he said as he stood.

She raised her eyebrows. "Commander, you requested that I carry out your interrogation."

"Same difference," he said as he walked a little closer.

She furrowed her brow slightly. She was so petite, at least in her appearance, but his cheek reminded him that appearances could be deceiving when it came to this Vulcan.

"Shall we commence?" she asked as her nose wrinkled slightly again.

"After you, darlin'." There it was the glint in her eyes. It was kind of cute. _Cute?_ What the hell was he thinking "cute" for?

"Commander—" she began with a warning tone.

"Trip."

"Trip?" she looked at him questioningly.

"Trip. That's my name."

"Commander," she began again, "You will address me as Sub-Commander T'Pol."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "So what are you? The first officer?"

T'Pol's eyebrows furrowed again. "I am, indeed, second in command of this vessel."

"So, that would make us sorta equals, wouldn't it?" Trip wasn't sure why, but he liked that idea.

"I don't see how that makes us equals. You are the prisoner and I am your interrogator," she replied with a rather confused expression. Trip sighed and leaned against the wall, even closer to her. Her nose wrinkled again.

"Those just details, darlin'," he said, but then caught himself, "Uh, I mean 'Sub-Commander." He smiled at her.

His brain was screaming at him. _W__hat the hell are you doing? Are you flirting with her? A __**Vulcan**__? _It was almost as if he were outside of his body watching this strange behavior spiraling out of control. Trip wasn't much of a womanizer—not that he didn't have any experience, the memory of his most recent exploit with the MACO, Amanda Cole, came to mind—it's just that women tend to stab you in the back when you least expect it. That was more of Archer's thing.

"Commander, do humans bathe?" T'Pol asked.

_Whoa_, he thought, _that came out of left field._ He reached up and touched the three day old stubble on his chin, and then he looked at his hand. No, the question hadn't come out of left field after all. "Usually, every day," he winked at her. What was wrong with him? He was a hardened, vicious man…. wasn't he?

"I will make arrangements then," she said as she turned to leave.

"Wait," he said, not quite ready for their conversation to end, "Is that it? That's your interrogation?"

She turned back around, and looked him over before meeting his eyes. "Until you have bathed, Commander, it is." She exited the cell, leaving him feeling as if he were utterly naked.

"Looks like the princess won that round," he muttered to himself as he stared at the door.

* * *

_**ii.**_

T'Pol walked away from the brig, relieved to breathe fresh air again. She had noticed the smell when she had questioned Commander Tucker the first time, but today it had been overwhelming, especially when he stood so close to her. There was another scent she detected near the end of their meeting, but she didn't know what to make of it. Humans were strange beings.

She would make arrangements for all three of the humans to bathe—every day they were in custody. She wouldn't be interrogating the other two captives, but it would be illogical to force the Vulcans who would be to experience such unpleasantness unnecessarily. Also, she would increase the air filtration in the brig—at least she would not be distracted by his potent and foreign scent.

Her thoughts turned to her conversation with Commander Tucker. He hadn't been as rude as before, even though he had nearly taken over the conversation. Equals? Why would he think that? She knew that he had been second in command of his vessel from the data that they had gathered from the shuttle. However, he seemed to be oblivious to the fact that he was now a captive with little or no power.

_He managed to get you to be his sole questioner_, she reminded herself.

He also single-mindedly kept up his attempt to escape using his engineering skills. The human's arrogance was grating. The corners of her mouth turned downward.

Down the hall, she saw Koss walking in her direction. A small sigh escaped her lips. What she wanted most at this moment was a shower… but that would have to wait.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. "You are finished with the Human?" he asked as he fell in step with her.

"For now," she answered. "I could not continue because of the smell."

"Yes, I noticed that also."

"I am making arrangements for the Humans to bathe, as well as for the air to be filtered in the brig," she stated as they were nearly to her quarters.

"It is a sound decision."

As she pressed the panel to open her door, Koss gave her a look that hinted of desire. She stepped into her quarters, and turned to him. "I will report to the bridge once I have bathed," she said, though the underlying message was clear.

"Very well," he agreed as he walked away.

She leaned against the door once it closed. Koss would not be going through Pon'Farr for a few years yet, long after they were to be wed, but that didn't mean that he couldn't mate at other times. Pon'Farr didn't preclude sexual relations outside of that time.

Koss had been hinting at his desire for some time now. She did not reciprocate, and was content to wait until their wedding to consummate the relationship.

For some reason the image of Commander Tucker came unbidden to her thoughts. He was attractive, for a human, she could admit that. But to mate with him? When he smelled like that? She shivered, not entirely certain that the thought was a negative one.

* * *

_**iii.**_

It was late morning on the _Enterprise _and Jon lay naked, spooned against an equally naked Hoshi. She was asleep… he was not. He hadn't slept most of the night, even after he was convinced she had finally dozed off. The wheels were turning in his mind. He had to stay ahead of Reed, who, if Trip was dead, would become first officer. Jon needed a contingency plan and he had devised one. It was time to put that plan into motion.

He gently caressed Hoshi's flat abdomen, kissing her shoulder. She stirred with a moan, stretching like a cat.

"Hoshi," he whispered in her ear.

"Hm?" she replied groggily.

He pulled her closer to him. "Hoshi, I love you."

Her eyes opened. "What?"

He smiled and kissed her lustily on the lips. "I love you."

She pulled back and searched his face. He made the most vulnerable expression he could muster. After a few moments it seemed like she was satisfied. She grinned, but she couldn't quite keep the wicked glint out of her eye. Jon pretended not to notice.

"You think so?" she said playfully.

He kissed her again. "Yes," he answered between kisses, "You're the only woman I want." That was partly true. Juggling one woman that might try to slit his throat as he slept was plenty enough for him. Besides, she sated his appetite well enough.

She smiled wider. "You really mean that don't you?"

He looked into her eyes intensely and answered, "Why else would I say it? I love you."

She pulled him to her hungrily and as she began her ministrations, his mind was already on the second phase of his plan.


	5. DISAGREEABLE

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter Five**—_DISAGREEABLE_

_**i.**_

T'Pol sat at her desk in her darkened quarters. A digital tablet rested in her hands, casting an orange glow on her features. She was reading, and the glint in her eyes indicated that she was displeased. It was a letter from her family informing her that Koss' family intended to move up the wedding. That was no small feat since it meant releasing her from her commission early. Of course, his family had connections in the High Command, so it was possible. In fact, a letter from High Command would most likely be arriving shortly.

T'Pol felt her stomach tighten.

She knew that the request had not originated from Koss' family, but from Koss himself. He did not see any logic in delaying the marriage as they had, even for her tour of duty. She had actually requested this particular commission for the opportunity to get to know her betrothed better. It was highly unusual for a Vulcan, but T'Pol was not a typical Vulcan—not that she was attempting to become a radical, but sometimes her logic was a little different.

_Should I speak to Koss about this_, she asked herself. No satisfactory answer came to her thoughts. It seemed that Koss cared a great deal for her. He was protective of her and sought her company whenever possible. Admitting to him that she did not return his affection might damage him in some way. Not telling him, however, would be akin to lying.

T'Pol chose to do nothing for now. In time her answers would come, and forcing her thoughts on the matter would not make anything clearer. She set the tablet down on her desk and walked over to her bed. She knew that she should probably meditate, but her fatigue was overwhelming. As she closed her eyes, the image of Commander Tucker came unbidden to her mind.

He had smiled at her.

If his scent hadn't been so overpowering, the expression might have startled her. Upon reviewing their earlier interaction his smile appeared sincere—unlike during their first meeting. In fact, his body language appeared to show a desire for mating. That had confused her. He had acted contemptuously towards her at first, but in the second meeting he had been reasonable.

Perhaps by striking him she had inadvertently initiated a Human mating practice. T'Pol realized that her knowledge of Human culture was limited.

She also realized that she might very well have two suitors now, one of which she found almost repugnant. As to the other, she found herself oddly pleased by the thought of his pursuit.

It was an illogical thought.

* * *

_**ii.**_

_Trip grabbed Jonathon Archer by the hair and thrust his dagger at the captain's throat. Both men were sweating and panting from the exertion of the duel. He hesitated._

"_Do it," growled Archer, "Kill me, you bastard!"_

_Trip still hesitated, his heart pounding in his ears._

"_You coward!" seethed Archer as he made an effort to break himself free. The captain didn't have a chance as the blade slashed through his neck._

_Trip found himself standing over Archer lying in the pool of blood. The dagger clattered to the floor, echoing in the empty room._

Trip shot up in the bunk of the brig. He rubbed his eyes in the dim light.

_You'd think I'd be used to the nightmares after all this time_, he thought ruefully.

He could remember a time when his world was much more innocent—when he was home on Earth, before he had been educated in the unspoken laws of conduct in space. It was not that life on Earth was wholly innocent, but it was quite jarring once the realities of space life set in. Trip was a product of that environment in more ways than one, and none of them suited him deep down inside.

_Oh, Lizzie_, he thought of his younger sister, _what would you think of me if you saw me now?_

She would ever see him this way, though. She had died in a transport accident on her first trip to the lunar colony on the moon over a year ago. It had devastated Trip and hardened him even more. The painful memory of that time threatened to overtake him. He rubbed his eyes again, and focused his thoughts on escape once more.

There was no point in dwelling in the past. There was only the here and now.

* * *

_**iii.**_

Jon stood in the doorway of the engineering room, and watched Lieutenant Kelby work. The young man was no where near as brilliant as Trip, but he had kept the ship together well enough. Jon had overlooked the young man for quite some time now. There was a time that Kelby was in the captain's favor, but that had been more than a year earlier. And it was obvious that the lieutenant had become bitter about Jon's neglect.

Winning the boy over might take some work.

Jon hadn't decided how he was going to approach the young officer. He was fairly certain that Reed had already talked to him—the security chief was getting cockier everyday. What the captain didn't know was what Reed's sales pitch was, and whether or not Kelby bought it. Should Jon threaten Kelby, or lay on the bribery?

At least Mayweather had been easy. He was as squarely in the Jon's pocket as Trip had been. Jon chose not to dwell on the thought that it was questionable whether Trip had been in his pocket, or that he had been in Trip's. Damn, he didn't need his chief engineer gone when Reed was poising to strike. _You're getting soft, Jon_, he chided himself, _you didn't become captain because of Trip—you can manage to stay captain without him_.

Kelby had noticed Jon scowling at him. He strode over to the captain with a fairly confident gait that belied the fear in his eyes. "Captain?" he asked.

Jon looked him over, still deciding how to play his cards. He nodded towards the engine. "Is she going to fall apart?"

Kelby glanced over his shoulder, and sighed. "She's holding together with a little spit and string." He looked back at the captain. "She isn't going to last much longer."

"I'm sure she'll hold together long enough," said Jon.

Kelby's face hardened, indicating that he knew exactly what Jon meant. "Aye, sir" came the younger man's terse reply.

This wasn't heading in the direction that Jon was hoping for. It was time to change tactics. "Lieutenant," he began more thoughtfully, "I'd like for you to report to me at eighteen hundred hours. I don't want to run this ship into the ground, and you're going to tell me how to avoid that." The captain smiled, somewhat good-naturedly. "I promise I won't kill you."

Kelby smiled back, but it was a sickly, fearful smile. Jon had his work cut out for himself it seemed. He just hoped the boy's loathing for Reed was at least on par with his loathing for Jon.

* * *

_**iv.**_

Trip sat on the floor studying the components that he had obtained from the walls after managing to pull down a few more panels. It was difficult to make heads or tails of this Vulcan technology. It was so… alien. Trip barked a sour laugh at that thought. Even with the foreign engineering, Trip thought that he was beginning to see the logic behind it. _Logic?_ He laughed again. _I need to get off this damn ship! _

It seemed as if the key to understanding was just out of reach. It would only take a little while longer before he had it figured out, then he would be out of this hole along with the rest of the away team. Getting past the guard on the other side of the door was another thing… One step at a time, though.

A small part of him hoped that T'Pol would be the first one that learned of his escape. She had mocked his attempts—well not mocked exactly. Damn, it was hard to read these cold Vulcans. Then again, she hadn't been that cold, he had gotten her angry enough to hit him.

Of course, he played the fool the last time they met. What was going on with him then anyway? He'd been positively syrupy at their last encounter. The memory was uncomfortable, and at the same time made him angry. _The princess isn't going to get the better of me next time_, he resolved.

He heard the door open, and he knew it was T'Pol. He didn't look up, forcing his mind to focus on unraveling the mysteries of Vulcan technology. It wasn't easy. He could hear her soft breathing and her footsteps as she walked over to him. _Focus_, he reminded himself, _on what's in your hands_.

Staring at the components, he realized that he wasn't really seeing them at all. _Why won't she talk? _That bothered him. He knew a power play when he saw one. There was no way in hell he was going to be the first one to break the silence.

He heard her footsteps again, and thought for a fleeting second that she was going to leave. Instead, however, she seemed to be circling the small cell. Trip was getting agitated. _Talk woman_, he mentally ordered.

She remained silent still.

He couldn't concentrate with her in the room. If she wasn't going to question him, then she might as well leave him be. Inside he was a boiling mess of anger and frustration. The frustration was for how she rattled him just with her presence. No other person could make the engineer loose focus just by proximity alone, even an attractive one of the feminine persuasion. That infuriated him even more, that loss of control. He was grinding his teeth.

"You appear to be displeased, Commander," she said in a soft voice that startled him.

Trip liked the sound of her voice, and was angry that he liked it at the same time. He continued to stare at his hands.

"Why has your disposition changed from our last session?" she inquired clinically.

_Gee, I don't know_, he thought, _maybe I don't like being a prisoner_. Trip resisted the urge to look at her. After a moment, she crouched next to him, and her nearness made him grip the components tighter.

"I do not understand why you refuse to speak," she stated in a clearly perplexed tone.

Finally he turned to her, making them nearly nose to nose. "Do I smell pretty enough for you now, darlin'?" he asked. It wasn't what he had planned to say, but what the hell, it worked. Her brows furrowed, and her eyes made a small twitch. Even though he was furious, he got a small thrill from that tiny break in her Vulcan reserve. His game was going to be on today.

Of course, it might earn him another smack—but then again, that might be worth it.

"Bathing offends you?" she asked.

Trip smirked. "Of course not," he answered, "I just wanted to make sure that our session wouldn't get interrupted by your little Vulcan nose."

She stared at him for a moment, both still so close to one another. "That is surprisingly thoughtful of you," she said, not catching the sarcasm in his tone.

Trip grinned at her, but it wasn't the genuine smile from yesterday. No, his expression was much more feral. "I aim to please, sweetheart."

Flicker. Oh, he was going to get himself smacked for sure.

"If that were true, then you would tell us the reason for your presence in this sector," she pointed out.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Is that the only question you Vulcans know how to ask?"

"It's the answer that we require, yes," she replied. Her lips were very full, very red. Why would they be red, he wondered, with her green blood?

_Focus dammit_, he scolded himself, _don't let yourself be distracted by her!_ He was angry with himself once more. "I've already given you the only answer that you're going to get from me," he practically spit the words out.

T'Pol stood up and gave a small sigh. "If you would tell us—"

"You'll what?" he said, cutting her off, "You'll release me, and my men? Somehow I doubt that, princess." He stood, bringing himself face to face with her again. "I'll bet that if I told you what you wanted to know, I'd be no better off than I am right now—probably worse off." Damn, her lips were distracting. He subconsciously licked his own.

_Stop looking at them, you idiot!_

"Commander, I feel constrained to tell you that if you continue to refuse my questioning," she said, "that we will be forced to use other methods of extracting information that you will find less desirable."

"Is that so, darlin'?"

Flicker.

Why was it that the only Vulcan that he was able to crack was so damned attractive? She was close, just inches away. On one level he knew that he was angry with her, but on another level thoughts were crossing his mind that no prisoner should be thinking about his interrogator. _Stay focused, she's a VULCAN!_

"Why do you insist on creating difficulty for yourself?" she asked.

"I'm a stubborn fellow."

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed. "I believe that you will come to regret not cooperating with my interrogation."

"Was that a threat?"

"I was merely pointing out what is obvious," she answered rather arrogantly. Her tone grated on Trip's nerves.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that won't we?" he growled at her. Trip made a point of stepping away from her to pick up the components that he had been studying earlier.

He felt her hand on his shoulder and it was as if a small jolt of electricity went through him. _What the hell?_ He turned around to look at her. Her face appeared composed, but her eyes showed a hint of the surprise that he felt. _So, it wasn't just my hormones on hyper-drive_, he reasoned.

"I believe that further questioning would be futile," she stated, adding as an afterthought, "for now."

Somehow Trip didn't think that was what she was going to say when she'd grabbed his shoulder. He found himself licking his lips again.

After a few tense moments she finally broke eye contact with him and headed for the door. T'Pol paused when it opened, and said over her shoulder, "Commander, I hope you will consider what I've said."

"Fair enough, sweetheart," he replied, and then she was gone.

It was more than an hour before Trip could fully concentrate on his escape plan again.


	6. ORDERS

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language)_

* * *

**Chapter Six**—_ORDERS_

_**i.**_

If T'Pol had been walking any faster, she would have been running. She hadn't even bothered to look at the guard when she left the brig, let alone converse with him. She needed to get to her quarters, to meditate.

She shouldn't have touched him. It was disturbing and… interesting, the sensation she had felt when she had touched his shoulder. He had felt something too, she was certain. It was plain from expression on his face that he had been startled by the unusual jolt. What this would mean to their future encounters, she didn't know. Frankly, she was afraid to know.

_Afraid?_ How odd. Why would she be afraid?

T'Pol passed another Vulcan in the corridor that raised a questioning eyebrow. She merely nodded at him, unaware that her lips had been turned downward in a small frown—an unusual expression on a Vulcan face. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

When she had almost made it to her quarters a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Were you successful?" inquired Koss as he seemed to step out of nowhere. T'Pol found it remarkable that he was close at hand most of the time. Again, she felt a small regret that she did not return his apparent affinity for her.

"I was not," she answered stiffly. "Commander Tucker refuses to divulge any information."

Koss was quiet, most likely considering the next course of action to take with the humans. T'Pol waited patiently, a myriad of possibilities floating in her mind, none of which she was sure Commander Tucker would find pleasing.

"You will meld with him, then," he said. The words sank in slowly; it was an option that she had not considered, though it was the most sensible. It was also the last thing that she wanted to do.

"Surely one of the others would be more qualified…" she trailed off, knowing already that wasn't true.

Koss gave her a perplexed look. "T'Pol," he said as he walked toward her, "you are the most qualified." He reached his hand toward her face, and she involuntarily flinched as he moved a stray hair on her brow. His eyes held hers for a long moment before he broke contact. "I will leave you to prepare."

Within seconds he was gone, leaving a wide-eyed T'Pol in the corridor alone.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Lieutenant Kelby stood outside of Captain Archer's ready room, his hand hovering over the door chime. He felt as though he were going into the lion's den and didn't know if he would survive. Did Archer know that Kelby had met with Reed? A chill went down Kelby's spine.

He took a deep breath, and pressed the button.

Archer's gruff voice came over the comm. _"Who is it?"_

"Lieutenant Kelby with the report that you requested," he answered, adding "sir" quickly.

"_Come on in, Kelby."_ The captain sounded far too pleasant for Kelby's worried mind. The door opened, and he stepped into the dim room with as much confidence as he could muster.

Archer didn't look up from where he was sitting at his desk when Kelby entered the room. Instead he was studying a PADD with an impassive expression on his face. Kelby knew better than to speak. In the silence, the young engineer pondered how his fate might mete out.

Kelby hadn't given Reed a firm commitment, but had just listened to his pitch and promised to consider the offer. It was true that Archer's position was weakened by the loss of Commander Tucker, but Kelby still wasn't confident that it was weak enough. There was Mayweather, the psychopathic helmsman, who was the captain's lap dog. While he didn't incite fear quite like Tucker did, the young man was still not one to be reckoned with. Mayweather had grown up on a cargo ship, and was more than prepared for the unspoken rules of space life in Starfleet.

And then there was Phlox—a thought which sent another chill down Kelby's spine. The witch doctor seemed more loyal to Tucker than to anyone else, but Kelby supposed that in the case of the chief engineer's absence, Phlox's loyalties would fall to the captain.

"Kelby," Archer said, breaking into the lieutenant's thoughts.

"Yes sir?"

"Well, report."

Kelby was flustered for a moment. Maybe this meeting wasn't a political move after all, but instead a regular meeting between the captain and the acting chief engineer. Kelby didn't know if he should be offended that Archer thought so little of his worth in the ship's power play, or if he should be nervous that Archer had assumed Kelby's alliance with Reed. If it was the latter, should Reed fail in his little mutiny, then Kelby would go down with him on that assumption alone.

"These are a few of my suggestions for keeping the ship together while we pursue the Vulcans," Kelby replied as he handed Archer a PADD.

The captain scanned the information, and then looked up at him. "I see that the first suggestion is to slow down."

"Not by much, sir," Kelby explained. "According to our calculations, the speed would still overtake the Vulcans by a day—long before they reach their High Command."

"I see." Archer searched Kelby's eyes and after a moment he seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for. The captain stood up and reached for the bottle of bourbon on a shelf behind Kelby, as well as two glasses. "Why don't you have a seat," he said as he began pouring drinks for the both of them.

_So, it is about politics after all_, thought Kelby as he took a chair. The notion brought no reassurance to the Lieutenant.

"To the Empire," Archer toasted as he raised his glass.

"To the Empire," responded Kelby in kind. Archer drained his liquor and slammed the glass down on the table, a dreadful grin turned his lips upward. Kelby only took a small sip of the burning liquid, reasoning that it would be best to keep his wits about him for the rest of this meeting.

"Kelby," Archer began, "are you aware that I specifically requested you to be assigned to the Enterprise?"

"Yes, sir," answered Kelby with a grimace. He was aware that it had been when Tucker and Archer had been rivals, before that event that had somehow created the unholy alliance between the two men. Reed had been around then too, scheming and plotting just as he did now—but Commander Tucker had despised the chief of security just as much as the captain, or else Archer would have been "retired" long ago. When Kelby had been assigned to the _Enterprise_, Archer had immediately begun grooming him as Tucker's replacement, should the chief engineer meet an untimely end.

_The commander had, hadn't he_, mused Kelby, _but then in space nothing ever turns out quite as planned._

"Then," Archer said as he leaned forward, "you know how highly I value loyalty."

"I have an understanding." Kelby wasn't sure if he had just been bribed or threatened. Most likely both. The lieutenant resented being romanced once again. Kelby had been all but forgotten when the captain and the chief engineer finally saw eye to eye.

"I'm thinking it's time for a promotion, don't you?" asked Archer as he sat back in his chair once again. "Perhaps when this thing with the Vulcans is over, we'll have to make you a lieutenant commander."

"Uh, thank you, sir." _When this thing with the Vulcans is over?_ _Unless Commander Tucker is dead, I don't think I'll be seeing any promotion,_ thought Kelby with bitter honesty.

"Well, I won't keep you from your work any longer." Archer stood as he spoke. "Dismissed."

Kelby set his glass down and went to the door.

"Oh, Kelby," said Archer, stopping the lieutenant, "I'll slow the ship down, but your calculations had better be right."

"They are, sir." Kelby stepped through the door, fuming at Archer's arrogance.

After the last year of neglect, how could the captain just think that Kelby would happily jump on his side? On the other hand, Reed had never treated Kelby as anything other than a subordinate to be ignored, until the other day.

_Yeah_, he thought, _playing both sides might be the best choice for now… I just hope it doesn't bite me in the ass in the end._

* * *

_**iii.**_

T'Pol stood outside Commander Tucker's cell, concealed in the shadows as she watched him through the window. It was curious how he continued to take things apart in his cell, most likely in a useless attempt to escape. She had actually been quite surprised at how much damage the human had been capable of. The commander kept himself busy, moving about the small room with components at hand. He stopped every once and a while and seemed to mumble to himself. He certainly had a purpose.

What would it be like to meld with him? She wondered. What would she find in the human's mind? She felt an unusual trepidation regarding the meld. T'Pol had never felt fear when melding with anyone, including another alien species. There was no logical reason for her unease. She had meditated in preparation, but it did not alleviate her apprehension. After a time, she realized that further meditation was useless. It only served to prolong the inevitable.

As she pulled herself from her contemplations, she was taken aback to find Commander Tucker leaning against the door, staring at her through the window. He smiled and winked at her. T'Pol narrowed her eyes. The human appeared to be in better spirits, which might make the task of melding with him less difficult.

Her stomach felt like lead.


	7. SMALL SURPRISES

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language)_

* * *

**Chapter Seven** —_SMALL SURPRISES_

_**i.**_

Trip smirked. He liked the little disapproving look T'Pol had given him when he winked at her.

_Gotta keep the princess on her toes_.

He was in a better mood than earlier, mostly due to the fact that he was getting closer to a breakthrough on this Vulcan technology. He almost wished that she hadn't come back so soon so that he could finish forming his plan.

He _almost_ wished it.

When the door opened to admit her, he barely moved. She nearly had to brush past him to get into the cell. Once the door closed again, Trip leaned against it, facing her with his arms folded.

"I take it you're here to tell me that it's time for one of those less than pleasant methods of extracting information." Trip was rather calm. He had actually expected torture from the moment of his capture and had only taken advantage of his remaining good health while he could.

T'Pol raised a delicate eyebrow. "It is, indeed, time to approach your interrogation in a different manner," she replied.

Trip shook his head and sighed. The fun and games are over now. "So, what's it gonna be?" he asked. "Hot oil or the rack?"

"I'm afraid that I do not understand your reference."

Trip chuckled and ran his hand through his blonde hair. He moved to his bunk and sat down on it. "It's nothing," he replied, "I was just asking how you were going to torture me."

"I see." T'Pol looked uncomfortable. She never really had looked comfortable, but this time Trip noticed a difference in the way she carried herself. She was pacing.

"Boy, it must be bad," he said with a grin.

She stopped and stared at him. In the back of his mind he noticed her exotic eyes again. _Wake-up you idiot! She's about to make your life a living hell! _Trip did feel a twinge of anxiety. What could be bad enough to make a Vulcan give pause?

"I'm to perform a meld on you," she replied.

"A what?"

"A mind meld."

"Well that clears things right up," he said sarcastically.

T'Pol began pacing again. "Commander, given your apparent lack of knowledge regarding Vulcans, I will inform you that we are touch telepaths," she explained. "I am going to retrieve the information from your mind." She stood still once more, but this time her eyes were elsewhere.

Trip didn't like the sound of this at all. He was right. This was going to be bad—real bad. Another part of his mind also remembered that strange jolt when she had touched his shoulder before. "What if I don't let you touch me?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I can assure you that I will perform the meld whether or not you require restraints."

Trip rubbed his eyes and lay back on his bunk. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't," he muttered under his breath. Suddenly inspiration struck him. "Wait a second," he said as he stood and walked closer to her, "if you could just read my mind, why didn't you do it when you captured us? Save yourself the trouble of the interrogation?"

"It is not… agreeable… for the Vulcan performing the meld," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better, darlin'?" he snapped. "Because it ain't workin'."

T'Pol bristled visibly. "Why would I attempt to make you 'feel better'?" she asked.

Trip stood over her menacingly. "How the hell should I know?"

"Commander Tucker, you are acting irrationally once again."

"Irrational? That's rich," he snarled at her. "I'm supposed to be calm when you tell me that you're about to invade my mind?"

"You were given the opportunity to explain yourself without compulsion," she replied icily. "Your refusal necessitated this course of action."

"Oh, so I brought this on myself?" he snapped. "Sweetheart, if you hadn't taken us prisoner in the first place, none of this would be necessary!"

"If you hadn't been in Vulcan space there would have been no need to apprehend you," T'Pol shot back, her calm voice becoming strained. The two of them were nose to nose now.

"Why you little stubborn, cold, green-blooded—"

"Stubborn is an accurate description of your behavior," she cut him off.

Trip ground his teeth and felt his hands balling into fists. He wanted to roar. He wanted to smack some expression into her cold Vulcan face. Most of all, he was frustrated that a small part of him wanted her to touch him again. "Well, it takes one to know one, princess!" he fired at her.

Her nostrils flared. "Commander," she said tensely, "are you going to cooperate with the meld, or do I need to have the guards control you?"

Trip didn't answer right away. He didn't want to cooperate—of course not! At the same time she had made it quite clear that she was going through with it regardless of what he wanted. If he was going to be forced into this, it might be better to not be tied down at the same time. On the other hand, he had a duty to fight it—but could he fight it? Did he really want to fight it? _Of course I do! I don't want her in my head…right?_ Trip suddenly found himself wishing that he hadn't demanded her as his interrogator. He cursed himself for being so attracted to her.

"Sonofabitch!" he swore, rubbing his eyes, "Fine."

"Fine?" T'Pol inquired.

"Yes, fine, I'll cooperate—_physically_," he muttered. "But if you think I'll just let you waltz in my mind and look at whatever the hell you please…"

"Mental resistance is to be expected," she stated in her usual detached tone.

"Fair enough," Trip said, still angry at the _whole damn situation_.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Phlox hovered over one of the myriad cages in sickbay. Inside was a small creature with soft brown fur, running around the cage erratically. The Denobulan held a medical scanner in his hand. After a few moments, the creature made a high pitched keening noise and began to writhe on the floor of the cage. Phlox's expression remained impassive. Eventually the sound stopped as well as the thrashing and the doctor stood up.

"Hmm… Three minutes," he said to no one in particular. "Decreasing the dosage might prolong the desired effects." He had just turned away from his experiment when the doors to sickbay opened. When he saw that it was Hoshi, he frowned.

"Yes, Ensign, what can I do for you?" he asked in a bored voice.

She smiled at him. "I thought that maybe you could take care of this for me," she answered as she unzipped the front of her jumper and pulled it down to show her back. There were long, scabbed streaks across her back, some of which were swollen and painful looking.

Phlox turned his scanner on her. "It appears that these are becoming infected, you will need antibiotics," he stated. "When did you receive these?"

"Oh, a few days ago," she said nonchalantly. "I thought that they would just heal on their own, but the itching was getting to me."

"I didn't realize that the captain used a whip."

"Uh." Hoshi hesitated, obviously caught off guard by Phlox's direct statement. "Jon likes variety."

"Mm-mm," mumbled Phlox, as he pressed the hypo spray to her neck. "I'd prefer a little warning in the future if I'm going to be treating injuries from sexual exploits."

"Of course."

Phlox didn't believe that Archer had done it, it wasn't the captain's M.O. Lieutenant Reed on the other hand… "Is there anything else?" he asked as Hoshi zipped up her jumpsuit again.

"Actually, Doctor, there is," she answered. Before she could continue, the doors opened once more, this time admitting Archer. Hoshi scowled briefly.

"Thanks," she said as she walked toward the door. She stopped in front of Archer and pulled his head down into a lusty kiss.

After she left the room, Archer gave Phlox a questioning look. "What was that all about?" he asked.

"Let me just say that I believe that Hoshi isn't just the captain's woman," the doctor answered.

"I know."

"And, I believe she came to discuss something other than medical treatment."

"I didn't come here to talk about medical treatment either," Archer replied.

"Captain, let's be direct," said Phlox bluntly. "Are you still working to rescue Commander Tucker?"

"Yes," Archer answered. "We're pursuing the Vulcans as we speak."

"Then you have nothing to worry about, Captain." Phlox turned away, believing the conversation to be over.

"And what if Trip is dead, Phlox?"

The doctor turned around and stared at the captain intensely. "If that turns out to be the case, then I might suggest a nice meal and some sweet talk would be in order," Phlox responded, "Now, shoo! I'm very busy."


	8. INVASION AND DISCOVERY

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and mild sensuality)_

* * *

**Chapter Eight—**_INVASION AND DISCOVERY_

_**i.**_

T'Pol knelt across from Commander Tucker on the floor of the brig. She would have preferred to use a meditation pillow, but she believed that if she left before performing the meld, the commander might reconsider his decision to cooperate.

She was slightly unsettled, not sure that she wanted to go into his mind, let alone touch him after their last experience. She had melded successfully with other alien species, but it wasn't the chaos that she expected to find in the human's thoughts that had her concerned.

"Have you ever done it with a human before?" Tucker asked, clearing his throat before adding, "A meld, I mean?"

"No, I have not," T'Pol replied in a voice that came out more quiet than she intended.

"So, you don't even know if this will work?" he replied.

T'Pol narrowed her eyes. "You infer that Vulcans have never melded with your species before. It is unwise to make such assumptions with your limited knowledge."

The human's expression changed. His veins became more prominent and T'Pol recognized that his temper was rising once more. She often underestimated how volatile his emotions were.

"Are you trying to make me angry?" he hissed. "Or are you always so pleasant?"

"Commander, I was merely correcting your fallacious belief that humans and Vulcans are incapable of melding," she answered, more than a little perplexed as to why the commander seemed to take offense so often.

"And calling me an idiot at the same time!"

"At no point did I reference your intelligence level."

"Darlin', I know insinuation when I hear it," he said with a glare.

She disliked it when he used nicknames such as '_darlin_'' and '_sweetheart_' when referring to her. She disliked it even more after he had been repeatedly reminded to use more formal and appropriate terms. T'Pol preferred not to think why the intimate manner of address from him disturbed her. She had experienced the much same with other alien prisoners in the past without any affect on her.

"Commander—"

"Forget it," he said, cutting her off with the wave of his hand. "Let's just get this damn thing over with before I change my mind."

"Agreed."

T'Pol closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to prepare her mind for the meld. She fortified her mental defenses to keep the joining completely one-sided. When she opened her eyes again, she found the human focusing on her mouth. His eyes flicked to hers almost instantly, but not quick enough. He apparently had some illogical fascination with her lips. T'Pol found his apparent physical attraction to her both pleasing and disconcerting—disconcerting because she found it pleasing. She raised her eyebrow at the thought.

"Well?" he asked. "Is it over?"

"I have not yet begun, Commander," she responded. "Patience is a quality that you should, perhaps, attempt to acquire."

The human laughed, which again, was baffling. T'Pol couldn't predict what his reaction might be at any given moment. He was clearly unstable. Vulcans were wise in their decision to distance themselves from these irrational beings.

"I can be patient," he said, "but my knees say otherwise."

T'Pol took another deep breath. She realized that she was procrastinating. It was an illogical action. "It may help if you relax your breathing," she instructed and, when he seemed to balk, added, "You did say that you would cooperate physically."

He rolled his eyes before closing them. After he took a few deep breaths, T'Pol reached her slender hand and delicately placed her fingers on the contact points on his face. There was a spark that jolted her when she touched him—it was highly unusual. The commander opened his eyes and stared at her with curiosity plain in them. The jolt passed almost as quickly as it had come, but there was a resonating hum still in the connection.

"My mind to your mind," she began, "My thoughts to your thoughts… our minds are one." He involuntarily spoke the last words with her, transporting them into Commander Tucker's mind…

…T'Pol gave his mind a cursory glance, or the image his mind produced of itself. She was surprised to find it somewhat organized, appearing as a labyrinth of corridors containing doorways. It was neither warm nor cold, as she had experienced in other's minds before him. In fact, the atmosphere was quite comfortable. She was intrigued that he did not create a more inhospitable environment for her intrusion.

T'Pol also found it interesting that he would represent his mind with such a concrete visualization rather than something more abstract. She idly speculated whether or not this representation was specific to the commander, himself, or if it was indicative of a human mind.

"Intriguing," she said.

"Thank you." Commander Tucker smiled. He was standing before what appeared to be the entrance to the labyrinth. When she walked toward it, he stepped in front of her, wagging his finger.

"Uh-uh, princess." His grin widened as he spoke. "This is the end of my cooperation."

"That is irrelevant." T'Pol pushed him aside. As she stepped across the entrance, doors slid closed and indicator lights that she hadn't noticed before changed from green to red. She took that to mean that the doors were now locked. T'Pol turned and raised an eyebrow at the commander.

"Good luck, darlin'." He winked.

"Luck is immaterial," she responded as she began walking down the first corridor.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." He chuckled as he walked beside her.

She stopped and looked at him. "Commander, your informal manner of addressing me—"

"I'll tell you what," he said, "you call me Trip and I'll call you T'Pol—then we'll both be happy."

T'Pol found herself gritting her teeth. The human was difficult. She didn't answer him, instead continued to walk down the corridor.

He snorted. "And _I'm_ the stubborn one?"

T'Pol chose not to reply, though she found a retort threatening to pass through her lips. She paused a moment to strengthen her control.

Obviously, this would not be an easy meld.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Malcolm traced his finger lazily over Hoshi's bare shoulder. They were lying in his bed, having just finished one of their more tame encounters. Malcolm looked forward with malicious pleasure to the time that she would be all his.

"I have to go," Hoshi said as she sat up.

He watched her silently for a moment, admiring the fading marks on her back. It was a pity that those were barely perceptible now. He would have to make a more permanent mark when he became captain.

"You know I hate it when you go to him," Malcolm said quietly.

Hoshi paused in dressing and turned to him. "Then kill him." she smiled coyly. "That is your plan, right?"

Malcolm lazily got out of bed and walked to her. He pulled her toward him, turning her so that her back was pressed against him. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, his breath lingering on her ear.

"I don't know what you're referring to." In the mirror he could see her face darken as she glared at him. "I have no plans to murder Archer." When Hoshi opened her mouth to say something, he gently pressed her mouth closed. "However," Malcolm continued, "I can't help it if someone else does."

Hoshi's eyes widened as understanding dawned on her. Malcolm felt a surge of wicked pleasure as he brought his teeth down on her shoulder.

Archer would have to wait for his evening delight, Malcolm wasn't finished yet.

* * *

_**iii.**_

After what seemed like ages of walking through the labyrinth of his mind, Trip was growing irritable and tired. T'Pol hadn't tried to open any of the doors, though she had studied several, especially those that stood out a little from the others.

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" he asked when she had turned away from yet another door.

"Curious?" she inquired.

"Y'know," he said, "about what's behind it?"

"No," she answered without hesitation.

That aggravated Trip further. "What? It might be unpleasant, understanding humans better?"

T'Pol stopped walking and turned to face him. "Commander, my purpose is not to understand humans better, but to discover what your intentions were in Vulcan space," she responded wearily, adding, "Your interest in my opening the door further confirms my suspicions that it does not contain the information that I seek."

"How long are you gonna keep this up?" Trip asked. He was worn-out and though they were in his mind, he could feel his physical body starting to cramp from kneeling for so long.

"As long as needed," she stated with a note of finality that made Trip grit his teeth. His one consolation was that he knew that her physical form was experiencing some discomfort as well.

_Wait,_ he thought, _how'd I know that?_

He stopped, wondering if the meld wasn't just one-sided. He was sure that he would have noticed earlier if he could sense her thoughts as well. Trip concentrated, attempting to see if he could delve deeper into her mind. He sensed her growing irritation and frustration.

"Commander." Her strained voice broke his concentration.

He glared at her as she gazed back at him. They stood in a staring match for a while, before she finally broke eye contact and proceeded down another corridor of doors. Trip concentrated once more in an effort to sense her mind, but it was in vain. There was nothing there.

Muttering an explicative under his breath, he started walking again. When he turned a corner, he almost ran into T'Pol. She was studying another door. It was scarred and blackened, and it appeared as if it hadn't been opened in quite a while. Trip grimaced when he saw it.

"You do not wish for me to open this door," T'Pol stated, analyzing his reaction.

Trip realized that there was probably no point in lying, since she was in his mind after all. "No, I don't," he replied, "but not for the reason you're thinking." He snorted. "Hell, _I _don't even open this door."

T'Pol didn't respond right away, instead turning her intense gaze back to the door. Trip hoped that she would move on soon as she had with other doors. His frown deepened when she place her hand on the disfigured door instead.

"I promise, the answer you're looking for isn't behind that door," he said in desperation.

"That is a plausible suggestion," T'Pol agreed. "However, I also have to take into consideration that you were not planning on cooperating with this meld. I find it difficult to believe that you would willingly assist me now."

Trip laughed incredulously. "You Vulcans and your damn logic!" He groaned. "I'm not trying to help you."

"Even so, Commander," she said, "I have made my decision." She turned her attention to the keypad next to the door.

Trip closed his eyes as a slow panic was building within him.


	9. LAYERS

_Disclaimer: See the first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter Nine **– _LAYERS_

_**i.**_

Jon knew he should go to his quarters. Hoshi would be there soon, but sex with her wasn't all that appealing to him at the moment… not since it had become part of the political game. Of course, he had made it even harder on himself by keeping up the pretense of being in love with the backstabbing whore. When the crew was reminded once again what the proper hierarchy was, he'd straighten Hoshi out.

He began to stand from his desk, thinking he should probably pick up a bottle of wine from the galley to add another touch in his little charade when the comm came to life, interrupting his thoughts. He pressed the button wondering who would be disturbing him at this hour.

"Go ahead."

"_Sir, Major Hayes is here to see you,"_ said one of his personal guards. Jon usually had one with him at all times, but since Trip's disappearance, he had upped the number to two.

"Send him in."

"_Aye sir." _

The door slid open and the major stepped across the threshold. Jon stood, examining the man before him. Though not as tall as the captain, Major Hayes had an intimidating presence nonetheless. His spiky black hair was tinged with grey at the side. On his cheek there was a large circular scar that turned into a deep dimple when he smiled—but like the other members of the crew on the _Enterprise_, Hayes seldom smiled. The major stood attention before the captain, the consummate soldier. Jon eyed him looking for any indication as to why Hayes would need to visit the captain without being summoned. The major's face was expressionless.

"What is it?" Jon asked, not bothering to offer Hayes a chair.

"Will my men be boarding the Vulcan ship in order to retrieve the away team?"

Jon barked a laugh. "Now I know why you don't get involved in politics."

"Sir?"

"Sit down, Major," Jon said as he waved his hand to the chair opposite of him. Hayes sat rigidly with his hands in his lap. "What is it?" Jon asked again.

"I heard a change may be coming."

"Did you?"

"That's the rumor, sir."

Jon sat back in his chair, frowning. "Sounds like an unfounded rumor to me."

"Perhaps," Hayes agreed, adding, "Perhaps I can help make sure it is."

Jon raised his eyebrows at this. "I thought you didn't choose sides, Major."

"I don't, sir."

"I see," Jon replied, contemplating what he thought Hayes was implying. "Is that all?"

"For now, sir."

Jon stared at Hayes a moment longer, looking for a hint of duplicity in the major's blue eyes. Unfortunately they were as unreadable as his face.

"Dismissed," the captain finally replied and Hayes stood to leave. "Major," Jon said, stopping the other man, "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't, sir," Hayes responded, giving the captain a dark grin before leaving the room.

* * *

_**ii.**_

T'Pol glanced at the commander when, after several attempts, she managed to surpass the lock. His face paled as the unkempt door slid open. She could sense his immense discomfort, which caused her to hesitate.

"Please," he said in a quiet voice, "what you're looking for isn't in there."

T'Pol was taken aback by the desperation in his tone. Through the meld, she knew that he was right; the answer she sought was not through the doorway. She was curious as to what secret the human would find more important than the reason for his presence in Vulcan space—more so, why he wanted to keep it from _her_.

It was illogical for her to proceed, as she knew it would only serve to delay finding the specific answer she sought. Yet, perhaps there was something to this greater secret that might provide some leverage in her interrogation. As T'Pol stepped across the threshold she heard the human speak, but the words were lost as her senses were assaulted….

_The bright flash of an explosion and pain—so much pain! There were voices, but they were unintelligible, just mumbles under the klaxon of alarms._

~FLICKER~

_There were voices again, hazy, but more distinct this time._

"_His injury is quite serious, Captain."_

"_Can he be saved?" There was no hope or kindness in the question. The voice was cold and detached._

"_Not without more drastic measures."_

~FLICKER~

The room was filled with darkness and silence. T'Pol waited patiently, puzzled as to why the human was so disturbed by these memories and then…

_Everything flooded with blinding white light and loud noises. There was a baby crying as well. The room came slowly into better focus, as T'Pol saw a human female looking down with affection at a baby in her arms. Before the image solidified, it shifted to a Denobulan male holding a baby—the same baby. The images shifted back and forth, and eventually overlapped._

~FLICKER~

_Childhood memories flashed past in quick order. There was the same duality of overlapping memories. The image of a small human boy running through the sand on a beach was overlaid with the image of the same boy at the same age running through the corridors of a spaceship. Another image of a human woman reading to the boy was converged with an image of the Denobulan reading to the boy._

The memories rushed at T'Pol as if they had been tightly coiled for so long…

_The boy, Commander Tucker, T'Pol presumed, was older now, in school—but not in school__—__as he sat with his studies. A human teacher walked by the boy's desk and was overlaid with the Denobulan._

_The boy was also becoming dual, and overlapping himself with images of a bright, hopeful child and a serious, sadder child._

~FLICKER~

_The boy was a young man now, wearing a uniform that was constantly changing between two different styles. His expression alternated as well from pride to resignation._

_The mother-overlaid-Denobulan stood before him and both spoke at once._

"_You were meant for this," the mother said with a proud smile while at the same time the Denobulan stated clinically: "You were created for this purpose."_

_The dual young man answered with two different replies, one with sharp pleasure, and the other with acute sadness._

"_It has always been my dream—"_

"—_What if I don't want to?"_

~FLICKER~

_Layers of a young man in an academy mingled and tangled with layers of a young man on a starship. One was proud, determined, and ambitious__—t__he other severe, serious, and sad._

~FLICKER~

_The memories converged slightly as both versions of the human—now a man—were working on the same ship in the same room, presumably the engineering room. Each version of the commander went about his tasks in a slightly different manner. One, though self-serving and at times ruthless, was also tempered with a sense of humor. He always had his eyes toward future goals and planned on commanding a ship of his own in the near future._

_The other was less jovial and forward looking. Despite his depression, he tended to take every moment and savor it—the few that were worth savoring. The future held little consequence for him as he preferred to be more contemplative and reflective._

T'Pol was startled as another brilliant flash flooded the room.

~FLICKER~

_The memories were singular now. The commander sat on a bed in a medical facility. He looked haggard, a mixture of anger, confusion, and sadness permeated his features. The doors opened and the Denobulan—Doctor Phlox, T'Pol gathered from the commander's memories—entered. He frowned upon seeing the human sitting in bed._

"_You're not supposed to be awake yet."_

"_What did you do to me?" Trip demanded in a horror filled voice._

_Phlox hushed the human, gently pushing him to lie down. The doctor produced a hypospray and gave Trip an injection._

"_Wha'd—" was all the commander could get out before slipping to unconsciousness and turning the room black once more._

~FLICKER~

T'Pol realized that Tucker, not the memory of him, stood beside her and had seen everything she had. Pain was evident on his features. Before she could speak to him the scene changed again…

_Blackness turned to light once more as voices could be heard. T'Pol recognized one as the Denobulan doctor and the other as the unseen captain from the beginning of the memory onslaught. The sickbay came slowly into focus as Commander Tucker was awakening on his bed._

"_It was a success, Captain," Phlox said jovially the tall human male._

"_We'll see about that," Captain Archer replied far less enthusiastically. _

_Trip began to get out of bed silently. T'Pol could feel the tide of anger building inside of the commander as he searched for his uniform._

"_The rest will be up to him," the doctor said as his smile dropped a notch. "I've done my part, whether or not things go according to your plans is not my concern."_

"_It is your concern," the captain said in a threatening voice. _

_Neither man noticed that Trip had been listening to the entire exchange. He had found his uniform and managed to retrieve his dagger. Rage overwhelmed him as he stepped up to the two men. "You," Trip exclaimed, pointing the sharp blade at the captain, catching both men unawares, "you had him do this to me!"_

"_You owe me your life, Commander," Archer spat back at him. Trip's fury reached an apex as he came at the captain with a primal yell. Archer easily dodged the clumsy attack and produced his own knife from his side._

"_I could have let you die, you ungrateful bastard!" he sneered at the younger man._

"_I don't owe you anything!" Trip shot back. He stood in an attack stance with his teeth clenched._

"_Are you challenging me?" Archer asked with a sardonic laugh. Trip didn't answer, but came at the captain again. This time it wasn't as easy for Archer to deflect the attack._

"_I'll take that as a 'yes'," he grunted as he steadied himself._

"_My, my, my," Phlox said quietly, stepping back to give the men more room._

_The two humans began dueling and T'Pol watched with curiosity. They were both quite adept at using the weapons in their hands and much of the duel was attack and parries, with neither gaining the upper hand. At one point, Archer swung his knife upwards and caught Trip on the cheek—most likely the foundation for the scar he carried there now. The blonde man grimaced, but that was the only recognition he gave of the bleeding wound, his anger dulling the pain._

_After a while, it was becoming evident that the men were becoming. Archer came in close for another attack which Trip deflected, punching the other man in the face. The hit must have been hard as it caused the captain to drop his dagger. Trip kicked it away quickly and knocked Archer face first to the floor. Kneeing the captain in the back, Trip pulled Archer's head up and placed the blade of the dagger at his throat._

"_Do it," growled Archer, "Kill me, you bastard!"_

_Trip hesitated, his breathing hard from the exertion of the duel. He didn't know what the hell he was waiting for. He'd never liked Archer and he hated him now after what was done to him._

"_You coward!" seethed Archer as he made an effort to break himself free. The captain didn't have a chance as the blade slashed through his neck._

_Trip stood over Archer, who was lying in the pool of blood. The dagger clattered to the floor, echoing in the room._

_Phlox placed his hand on the commander's shoulder._

"_Well done, Commander," the doctor said cheerily, "Or should I say, 'Captain'?"_

_T'Pol could sense that Trip was in conflict. He had expected to be satisfied in the killing, but instead he felt disgusted with himself. When the Doctor had called him 'Captain', he realized that he didn't want any of it._

"_Save him," Trip answered in a hoarse voice._

"_You can't be serious," Phlox replied incredulously. _

_Trip grabbed the front of Phlox's uniform. "I said save him!" he snapped, "and that's an order!"_

"_Very well," the doctor replied with a look of disappointment, "if you insist."_

_The commander let go of Phlox and made as if to return to his bed. He had taken only a step before collapsing to the floor._

~FLICKER~

_Archer now lay on a bed in the sickbay, straps restraining his arms and legs. Trip stood over him wearing the same haggard expression as before. His mind was working, attempting to rationalize his decision to save the captain. T'Pol realized that he feared losing respect from those below him in the command hierarchy by such an act of compassion._

_Archer's eyes fluttered open and Trip quickly brought his dagger to rest on his throat._

"_Once wasn't enough for you?" the older man sneered in a gravelly voice._

"_It depends."_

"_On what?"_

"_Whether or not you can live with the only deal I'm offering you." _

_Archer barked a hoarse laugh that was cut short by the pressure of the knife against his neck._

"_Listen, you son of a bitch," Trip said in a steely voice, "I didn't ask you to do this to me."_

"_I didn't ask you to save me either," Archer pointed out with a growl._

"_Then we're in the same predicament," Trip replied, easing the knife off the captain's neck slightly, "So here's the deal: You and I will stop helping each other out without asking first."_

"_Are you talking about an alliance?"_

"_Sounds like it, doesn't it?" Trip reasoned that without creating an alliance, he'd have to kill Archer again in order to keep from being labeled a coward._

"_And if I refuse?" _

_Trip pressed knife harder against Archer's neck. "I could put you out of your misery right now," he offered. _

_The captain scowled. "You leave me little choice."_

"_About the same you gave me." _

_Archer closed his eyes. "I'll take your offer," he said finally, "of an alliance." _

_Trip took the knife away from the captain's neck, revealing a thin pink scar from their earlier encounter. He was relieved that he didn't have to take the other man's life. As Trip walked toward the sickbay doors he was stopped by Archer's voice._

"_Trip," Archer paused until the younger man faced him, "You could have been the captain."_

"_I know."_

"_Then why?" _

_Trip raised his eyes to the ceiling as he sighed. After a moment he shook his head and glared at Archer with his piercing blue eyes. "Because suddenly it didn't seem that important."_

Blackness pervaded the room once more. T'Pol found the memories intriguing and somewhat puzzling. She turned to the commander next to her, but he was still staring straight ahead. His mouth was moving and his whisper was barely audible.

"The dream."

~FLICKER~

Everything was strangely blurry and the colors were wrong.

_Trip was lying on his back, unable to move. One of the curtains that surrounded the bed pulled back to reveal the Denobulan doctor, Phlox, who looked down on him with brilliant, cold blue eyes._

_The rest seemed to happen in slow motion as Phlox raised his hand, revealing a large, jagged dagger. Phlox brought it high above his head, holding it with both of his hands and then brought the knife down onto the commander's chest. As the room slowly darkened, a voice could be heard above the din of medical alarms._

"_What have you done?"_

~FLICKER~

The images suddenly came into sharp focus and the colors brilliant and alive. This memory was the most vivid of all the previous ones.

_Before her, the commander lay on a bed with cranial sensors resting on his forehead, just as he had in the dream. He was unconscious and his breathing seemed mechanical._

_T'Pol raised her eyes and was slightly startled to find the commander standing next to the bed as well. He looked down on the other with hollow eyes that hinted of deep sadness. Suddenly, T'Pol had a theory as to why Trip's earlier memories had been so confusing and diverging._

_A curtain that surrounded the bed pulled back and the Denobulan doctor appeared surprised to see the commander standing next there as well._

"_You've found him, I see," Phlox said._

"_Why'd you do it, Doc?" Trip asked without meeting the doctor's eyes. Looking down on the unconscious version of himself was disturbing. _

_Phlox gave him a pleased grin. "Why for the sake of science, of course," Phlox answered. "I never pass up the opportunity to test one of my theories." _

_Trip looked up at him with dark eyes, gripping the dagger at his side. T 'Pol sensed the injustice and betrayal that the commander was feeling. "Why is he still here?" _

_Phlox chuckled. "Commander," he replied, "I would have thought as an engineer, you would understand the notion of 'spare parts'." _

_The comment made Trip's stomach turn. _

_He raised his dagger above his head, but instead of attacking Phlox, he brought it down hard on the invalid's chest with a pained growl._

"_What have you done?" the doctor exclaimed in horror as medical alarms sounded._

"_At least one of us can have some peace now," Trip murmured, overtaken again by the hollowness that was becoming a part of him. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in the dying man's chest, his body convulsing uncontrollably._

The intensity of the emotions overwhelmed T'Pol. Anger, hate, self-loathing, guilt, regret, sadness, disappointment, frustration, pain and confusion most of all pummeled her as she desperately clawed her way out of the room.


	10. What a Difference a Day Makes

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: PG-13 (for language and sensuality)_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**—_What a Difference a Day Makes_

_**i.**_

Trip opened his eyes as T'Pol withdrew her hand with a hiss. The loss of her touch deepened the hollowness he felt. She had opened a door in his mind that he had wanted to leave closed for the rest of his life. She had made him relive every moment in vivid detail, every moment that he had locked away from himself. Even now he found himself pushing away the raw emotions coursing through his body.

Trip didn't want to remember, and he was angry with her for forcing him to.

"A clone?" T'Pol inquired quietly.

He wasn't sure how to respond, so he remained silent, afraid of the answer himself. He rubbed his eyes and was surprised to find wetness. When he finally brought his eyes up to meet hers, he found her looking at him with an expression of curiosity.

Trip snorted. "Are you asking if I'm a clone?" he said. T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "No, not exactly," he continued.

"I do not understand."

Trip raised his eyes to the ceiling. How could he explain it to her? How could he explain that Reed's explosion didn't kill him outright as planned? How could he explain that Phlox couldn't resist the opportunity for another experiment? Phlox had been encouraged by Archer to let Trip die, but he hadn't. The captain had been angry when he found out that Phlox had made a clone. Eventually the doctor had been able to convince Archer that in saving the chief engineer would mean that Trip would be in debt to him.

Trip's loyal engineering crew had balked at the notion of following Kelby—Archer's man. The lieutenant wasn't strong enough to be the kind of leader that the captain needed to keep Reed at bay, at least not as strong as Trip. Saving the chief engineer would have created a forced alliance, a plan that had backfired on Archer. Although, he did get the alliance in the end.

Trip shook his head. "This," he said as he pointed to one side of his head, "is me." He pointed to the other side of his head. "Most of this is… the other one." Trip didn't bother to hide the disgust in his voice.

"The clone was created in order to transplant healthy tissue?" she asked, seeking more clarification.

Trip sighed. The Vulcan wasn't going to let it go and it was frustrating. He stood up and moved to his bunk. "Yeah, that's about it."

T'Pol didn't stand, but instead shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged facing him. "And you find that distasteful?" she asked.

Trip looked at her incredulously. "Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "Goddamnit, they cloned me! _Me!_ And then put half of him in my head! They killed him so they could save me!" Trip took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, before speaking again, this time in a calmer voice. "I'm not the same man anymore." He didn't like saying it out loud. He didn't like admitting that he didn't know where he ended and where the clone began.

"Sim," he said quietly, reminding himself that the clone had a name.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"That was his name," Trip explained.

"You believe you killed him," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Trip grimaced as a wave of guilt washed over him followed by a dose of self-loathing. T'Pol furrowed her brow as she watched his expression turn dark.

_What the hell is this? A psychological evaluation?_

"Why the hell do you care?" he snapped back at her, louder than he intended.

T'Pol didn't answer him, instead she seemed to wait patiently for an explanation. There was something in her eyes that he hadn't noticed before. He didn't know what to make of it. It was definitely not negative. Could she actually care? Trip shook his head. She was his interrogator and a _Vulcan_—of course she didn't care. He looked at her once more and found her still waiting quietly for him to speak.

"Isn't this conversation illogical?" He smirked at her. She had stripped him naked with that meld and he'd be damned there weren't going to be consequences. T'Pol's eyes flickered and he knew he was right. He glared at her.

"What? You wanna understand the freak better now?" he said as he watched her become more rigid. "Scientific curiosity and all?" T'Pol's silence was answer enough for him. "That's what I thought," he replied with a sneer, "You're just like the Doc." He didn't keep the bitterness from his voice.

"Your comparison is inaccurate." Her voice was quiet, but the tension was unmistakable.

He didn't care that he had offended her, not after what she had done to him. "Well, it looks pretty accurate from where I'm sitting, sweetheart," he responded in a tone laced with venom. He spread his arms and continued, "Take a good look and get your money's worth. You won't get another chance to study the Frankenstein monster!"

She stared at him and again he saw something in her eyes that made him regret his accusation: compassion. He couldn't tear his eyes away to deny the unmistakable emotion that lay in hers. _She's Vulcan, damnit!_ She wouldn't have compassion for a prisoner! Finally, he managed to break the contact and rubbed his eyes. He felt suddenly deflated and empty, confusion washing the fight from him.

Trip shook his head and mustered the courage to look at T'Pol once more.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Hoshi was late.

Jon stifled the anger rising in his chest. He knew why she was late, though he would do nothing about it—for now. He needed her to believe that he was oblivious to her liaisons with Reed. He needed her to believe that he was going soft and blind while head-over-heels in love with the two-timing slut.

The wine sat on the small desk with two long-stemmed glasses. A candle flickered there, as well as others scattered throughout the room. Jon wished Hoshi would hurry up. He didn't trust himself to keep the growing rage at bay for long as he tried not to imagine what she and Reed were doing.

Finally, the door chimed and he momentarily considered letting her ring a few times more. In the end he stood, knowing that he needed to act like a love-sick fool. He opened the door with the most enigmatic smile he could stretch onto his lips.

Hoshi slipped into the room, smelling faintly of lavender and soap. Good. She had at least had the decency to shower between her conquests. A grin graced her lovely features as she saw the wine and candles.

"All this for me?" she asked in a voice that resembled a schoolgirl's.

Jon pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers. "Who else?" he answered between kisses.

He slid his hands down to gently undo the satin sash of her robe. As soon as it fell open, she grasped his hands in hers and forced them to her shoulders where he slid the robe off of her soft skin. Jon found his jealous thoughts of Reed fleeing as he enjoyed Hoshi's curves.

He was not, however, so lost in the moment that he failed to notice her hand moving toward her back. He gave her a second before catching her arm as she moved to attack. She fought him, but it was futile attempt. He deftly twisted her arm up her back, forcing her to drop the dagger in her hand. Without speaking, Jon shoved her hard to the bed, where she watched with terror as he picked up the knife.

"Hoshi, Hoshi, Hoshi," he tsked as he walked slowly toward her, "I thought you knew better."

Hoshi stared at him with eyes wide with dread. Jon savored the moment. The scent of her fear sweat was heady. When he brought down the dagger, she closed her eyes, expecting the fate she had meant for him. Instead, he jabbed the knife into the pillow as he kissed her hungrily.

There was nothing more exciting than taking the woman who tried to kill him.

* * *

_**iii.**_

T'Pol would have taken offense at Commander Tucker's accusations, but a part of her recognized he was being irrational. His anguish, lingering from the mind meld, still resonated within her. She could not rise to the bait that he had laid before her. Instead she stared at him in silence, feeling an illogical need to comfort him.

When he raised his eyes to look at her once more, his face softened, the anger dissipating from him. Again, she saw that same pain in his eyes and she knew that he did think of himself as a monster, as less than, well, human.

T'Pol decided to give into her desire to comfort him. She did feel a certain apprehension regarding how she would convey her sympathy and how he would receive it. In their encounters, he often seemed to misunderstand her intentions and would become most disagreeable. Still, she stood and sat down tentatively next to him. The commander watched her with a look on his face that conveyed his disbelief.

"It is illogical for you to feel guilt over events that were beyond your control," she said in soft voice, hoping that he understood her acceptance of him.

_Acceptance?_ T'Pol took a moment to consider that thought, and decided it was an accurate description of how she perceived this human. His physical condition held little importance to her.

Of course, she realized such thoughts were entirely inappropriate.

"I just can't…" Commander Tucker began, but didn't continue. His eyes were glistening, his respiration increased, and T'Pol, wanting to prevent the flow of tears that would surely follow, hesitantly placed a hand on his arm. Through the contact, she felt his torment more keenly. It threatened to overpower her when he brought his free hand to place over hers. She had not taken into consideration how the physical contact might affect her.

The flow of his sadness lessened, and she felt a sense of relief wash over the commander. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and spoke, his voice laden with remorse. "What I said, I… I was just angry," he fumbled the words.

"An apology is unnecessary," she interrupted, not wanting the moment to become even more awkward. T'Pol did feel awkward and yet, strangely comfortable. Perhaps it was because Commander Tucker had been revealed to her on such an intimate level that she felt as if she knew him well.

"Thanks, I guess," he said as he squeezed her hand.

T'Pol became intensely aware of the tension between the two of them—tension that was clearly based on their mutual physical attraction. That open admission to herself was shocking, the more logical part of her mind screamed out in objection. He was human, he was a prisoner, he had violated Vulcan space, he had driven her to distraction with his volatile nature and yet...

She felt more for him than she had ever for Koss. Again her rational side protested her inappropriate behavior.

"Commander—" she spoke, wanting to break the spell he seemed to have cast over her, turning her head away from him. He squeezed her hand again, this time gentle rubbing his thumb across her wrist. The increase in tension was palpable and T'Pol had to gather her strength not to give over to her foolish side.

"Trip—" she said, not intending to use the name he preferred to be called. This human certainly had her befuddled. She had only intended to comfort him, but things were not going according to plan, not at all.

"T'Pol," he returned in a hopeful tone before she could finish speaking.

She brought her eyes to meet his. It was a mistake. Perhaps he had some unknown power, but T'Pol's argument against a continuation of their current behavior seemed less important once she looked into his blue eyes. She didn't know how long they sat like that, holding hands and staring into one another's eyes, but the commander did eventually break the moment in a way that was unexpected and at the same time most desirable.

He brought his lips tentatively to hers and she almost gasped. In the brief moments they had touched before, there had been a strange spark, but it was nothing compared to the way this kiss lit her as if she were in the middle of the Fire Plains on Vulcan. At the same time it was not painful...in fact, it was quite a desirable experience. She could also feel the commander's astonishment and pleasure as well. He depended the kiss and she responded instinctively by bringing her hands up to run her fingers through his surprisingly soft hair. He answered by wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him.

It was utterly engulfing, the way their desires fed off of each other, accelerating to the point that T'Pol lost all rational thought. They kissed each other hungrily, demandingly, pressing their bodies against one another. T'Pol's mind swirled with the heady images of mating, not all of which were hers. She wanted so desperately to give into those desires, to consummate her unbearable, irrational attraction to this human.

Consummate.

When that word entered her mind, reality came crashing back into her: the brig, Koss, everything.

T'Pol pulled back and Trip attempted to follow her, muttering, "Don't stop."

Gently pushing him, she removed herself from his lap. _Lap?_ When did she move to his lap? And when did she start thinking of him as 'Trip'?

His blue eyes came back into focus and his face was bathed with the regret that she was feeling now. Without speaking, she walked to the door, feeling his eyes following her across the small cell. Just before the door opened, she glanced back at him, trying to find the appropriate words for this uncomfortable moment.

"Don't say it," Trip warned her in a heavy voice before she could apologize.

She nodded her head slightly, giving him one last lingering look before stepping across the threshold.

* * *

_**iv.**_

Trip sat staring at the door long after she left. _Human_ women were baffling, what the hell was he thinking falling for a Vulcan one—and his warden at that? He shook his head, but he couldn't make sense of what had just happened. Kissing her had felt like licking a live conduit, a shock that left him energized, wanting more.

She was attracted to him, he had no doubt about that, but he didn't know how it would play out… if it played out at all. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. If there ever was a question that he was an idiot, it had been confirmed now. _Forget idiot_, he chastised, _you're ready for the 'compassionate' execution of the insane!_

There was one thing that was certain, though—he needed to escape. The repercussions for kissing his interrogator couldn't be good, and he didn't plan on sticking around to find out.

Just as Trip stood to begin his work once more, the door slid open to admit two very serious Vulcans.

"What can I do for you two fine fellows?" he asked with a steady voice that hid the anxiety he felt. Neither answered, but instead ushered him rather aggressively toward the door.

"Sonofabitch!" he muttered as he realized he was probably about to find out just what those repercussions were.


	11. The Best Laid Plans

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven** – _The Best Laid Plans…_

_**i.**_

The air was so humid, so laced with the ammonia of Trip's sweat, that it was like breathing rancid water. He was enclosed in a small clear chamber the size of a long torpedo casing that forced him to stand, even as his legs attempted to give out from under him. He had lost track of all time. He couldn't remember how long he had been locked in this glass coffin. In truth, he no longer cared. Trip could only gasp a lungful of the tepid air before the unbelievable pain washed over him once more.

"_Why was your ship in Vulcan space?"_ The deep, calm Vulcan voice came over a speaker that was somewhere above his head.

Through the mist on the glass, Trip could make out Commander Koss. The tall, pointy-eared alien had asked the same question over and over and over. Trip wanted to scream… Actually he had already, in fact, several times.

"Go to hell," he growled in a hoarse voice. It was the same answer he always gave.

Trip had experienced excruciating pain before. He had once thought that nothing could be more terrible than the agony he had suffered in the engineering explosion six months ago, but he now realized that there were no limits to the anguish his mind and body could endure. In some ways he was getting immune to it, adapting to it. He could no longer remember what it was like to be without such overwhelming agony. He couldn't remember, that is, except in the all too brief respites between tortures.

This time it was fire, pure raging fire that seemed to eat at him from the outside in. When he was sure that he should be nothing more than a charred husk, the burning subsided so suddenly that the shock of it took his breath away. In his mind, a voice began to pray for death. It was a reasonable thought, _logical_ even and because of that, he squelched it with an inner will to live. Oddly, it wasn't thought of vengeance that inspired his survival instincts.

When Trip had first been dragged into the room and unceremoniously squeezed into the agony booth (as he had nick-named it), he had thought that T'Pol might have ordered it. The accusation in his mind, however, didn't last long. The parting looking of sadness and disappointment in her eyes was burned into his memory and it somehow felt wrong that she would be the cause of his agonizing pain now… at least not because of the kiss.

"_Your lack of cooperation is illogical,"_ Koss explained in his ever calm, ever grating voice.

Always about cooperation and logic!

Trip gritted his teeth. "I'm a goddamn, irrational, red-blooded human!" he snapped back with the little strength he could muster. "You can crank this baby up to its highest setting, but the hell if you're gonna get anything from me!"

Trip had planned on saying more, planned on telling Koss just where he could stick his logic, but another wash of pure agony engulfed him. It was sometime during the sensation of a thousand knives neatly slicing him to pieces that Trip lost consciousness.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Captain Jonathan Archer stepped onto the bridge feeling more confident than he had been since his chief engineer was captured. Of course, he didn't think he was out of the woods yet. Surely Reed would have some other plan up his sleeve, but he was certain he had just won the first battle in this little war. Hoshi followed him off the lift, looking worried and distinctly trying to avert her eyes from the chief of security, who stood—too slowly—from the captain's chair to resume his post at tactical.

A brief smile tugged at Jon's lips. He should have thrown her in the brig, but he wanted to make sure that Reed completely damned himself before this attempted mutiny was over. He wanted to be able to make an example of the little Brit at the end—which meant no "accidents" and, more importantly, meant that Starfleet would sanction Reed's execution.

"Status report," Jon demanded of Reed, staring down the smug officer while possessively draping his arm over the command chair.

"We'll be on the Vulcans within four hours, sir," Reed answered.

Jon turned to Hoshi, who was checking her own readouts.

"We can hail them, if that's what you want," she replied without her usual attitude.

Jon shook his head. "No," he said, "I want to surprise these bastards."

Jon walked over to Reed's console and stood a moment in front the younger man before speaking. Reed stared defiantly back at the captain with his typical smug expression. It took every ounce of self-control for Jon not to strike out at the conniving son of a bitch right then.

"Can they detect us?" he asked instead.

Reed smirked. "I don't think so," he said, "but we'll be in firing range by the time they know we're on them."

Jon began to turn away, but stopped. He reached behind his back and pulled out the dagger Hoshi had used to try to kill him. "I found this in my quarters," Archer explained as he stabbed the point into the console, "and I don't know who it belongs to... but I have a suspicion."

He stepped away, leaving a sour-faced Reed staring at the knife sticking in his work station. Everyone else on the bridge pretended not to notice the gauntlet that had just been thrown down.

* * *

_**iii.**_

T'Pol was concerned. It seemed that she often was of late, but this concern was different. After her pleasing and disturbing encounter with Commander Tucker, she had chosen to return to her quarters, as she always did, to bathe and meditate before reporting to the bridge for her regular duty.

When she had arrived at the small, efficient command center of the V'Laran, Koss was not there. She had resisted the urge to question the other officers of the commander's whereabouts. There was no urgent need , so to pose a query would be illogical. In truth, his absence should have had no affect on her.

A few uneventful hours later, she had become disquieted. Since coming to the ship, Koss had seldom been far from T'Pol at any given moment. She believed it to be because of his apparent affection for her. His absence now seemed out of character and she was troubled. T'Pol had caught herself pacing several times before the end of her shift.

Her replacement arrived on the bridge and she stood, undecided as to what she should do next. T'Pol contemplated whether or not she should search for Koss and admit her failure at the mind meld—omitting the subsequent activity that took place, of course. She also had the fleeting thought of returning to the brig to attempt another meld with the human. It was a thought she banished quickly, because it was what she irrationally wanted to do most. Her interest was not in seeking information about his presence in this sector of space. The desires that swelled within her middle for Commander Tucker were scandalous and absolutely could not be acted upon.

In the end, T'Pol chose to return to her cabin to meditate. If Koss did not seek her out before she was done, she would find him. As she walked onto the lift, she tried to suppress the feeling of disquiet that only seemed to deepen further.

* * *

_**iv.**_

Jon stood in the corridor with his hands in the air, silently cursing himself.

Phlox had called and said that he needed to see him. Jon had left the bridge, taking his two guards with him, and headed to Sickbay. The two guards had barely gotten off the turbolift when they were fired upon. One managed to fire a single shot before he was killed. When the captain realized that the lift doors were going to remain open, he finally stepped into the corridor with his hands raised.

Jon didn't know if Phlox was in on this little ruse, but if he survived it, the Denobulan would have something to answer for.

The captain kept his face impassive, hiding the anger and betrayal that stirred inside of him as one of Major Hayes' men frisked him and relieved him of his weapons. Instead, Jon stared down defiantly at the major, in an attempt to show that he was still powerful.

"I thought you said I could trust you," Jon said through clenched teeth.

The major shrugged, nonplussed. "I don't remember ever using those words, Captain."

"Let me guess, I'm about to have a little..._accident_."

The only answer Hayes gave was another brief shrug before he moved behind Archer and prodded him forward with his phase pistol.


	12. And It Hits the Fan

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: PG-13 (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**_—__…__And It Hits the Fan_

_**i.**_

Varok stood at the small guard station in the brig, taking an inventory of the small weapons locker. Though it wasn't a particularly stimulating task, it did pass the time during his fairly uneventful shift.

This evening the humans seemed relatively quiet, not protesting their capture or yelling indecipherable babble. Varok was not versed in the Terran language, but he did have an electronic translator. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—the device was often unable to translate the outbursts that came from behind the cell doors. That suited Varok just fine

Varok's companion, S'rel, was running a routine diagnostic on the computer system in the brig. It shut down the automatic alarm system temporarily, but that was of little concern to Varok. If one of the humans managed the impossible and escaped from a cell, he was confident that the alien could be dispatched with little problem.

Yes, it would be another unremarkable shift, thought Varok.

And then, one of the cell doors opened.

* * *

_**ii.**_

Trip stifled the urge to whoop and holler once he managed to figure out how to break out. He scrambled to grab the heaviest wall panel of those strewn on the floor, and pressed his back to the wall beside the door, holding his breath, waiting.

It wasn't long before an alien weapon entered the room, followed by the arm and body of the Vulcan that held it. Without hesitation, Trip slammed down the panel on the guard's head with more force than he thought he could muster. Before the Vulcan hit the floor, Trip leapt after the weapon as it skidded across the small cell. With one fluid movement, he picked it up, shot the fallen guard and dashed for cover beside the door.

Again he waited. One second passed, another, then another, but the other guard didn't come. Finally, Trip peeked around the threshold, only to jump back as phase fire nearly singed his ear.

_Dammit!_

Trip hastily ran through his options. He could use the other guard for a shield. _No, too damn heavy! Think!_ His eyes scanned the room looking for anything that could be used as a distraction. Finally, he picked up another wall panel and heaved it out the door.

The Vulcan shot at it, giving Trip just the chance that he needed to take aim. As the guard crumpled to the floor, Trip said a silent "thank you" to his daddy for all those hunting trips.

Now he just needed to get the rest of his crew and get the hell out of here.

* * *

_**iii.**_

In another brig, on another ship, the Jon was pacing in the cramped, airless box they called a cell. He supposed he should be relieved that he hadn't been pushed out of the nearest airlock after his capture by Hayes, but he wasn't. Jon could probably guess why Reed wanted him alive.

As he wore a hole in the deck plating, the captain thought about his options and his allies. There was Mayweather. Jon glanced at the cell next to him through the plexiglass. The young man wasn't exactly in a position to help the captain at the moment. Mayweather had been thrown into the brig very nearly the same time as himself. Phlox was another ally, Jon supposed—if he hadn't been in on the ruse—but he doubted that the doctor would make any moves to rescue him. Who was left? Hoshi? That was laughable—she had just tried to kill him. Kelby? Maybe, but then Jon wasn't confident that his chat had gone over well with the engineer. The captain grudgingly admitted that his situation was grim.

The speaker in the brig came to life with a distinctly British voice. _"Attention crew. This is Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed and I regret to announce that I have taken command of this ship." _Jon stopped pacing and ground his teeth so hard that it caused him pain.

Reed continued in a tone that had none of the disappointment he pretended. _"I have just received orders from Starfleet that Captain Archer is being called to question for his actions in Vulcan space."_

"Bullshit!" Jon yelled at the speaker. Reed's words were an utter fabrication. Starfleet had sent them out here in the first place.

"_We are also ordered to continue in our rescue of Commander Tucker and his crewmen—"_

_So you can make sure he's really dead,_ thought Jon distastefully

"—_before we leave Vulcan space. All of you are to carry on with your duties. Reed out."_

Jon was enraged. If he survived this, he would make sure that duplicitous little bastard paid dearly.

* * *

_**iv.**_

Trip stood against the wall, waiting for Biggs to check around the next bend in the corridor before moving forward. He ignored his shaking in his hand that held the Vulcan pistol tightly. Fear wasn't what made him tremble, but a fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him. Adrenaline was all that was keeping him from collapsing.

Biggs gave the "all clear" signal and the three humans turned the corner and ran along the wall. It was sheer luck that they had made it this far. Trip didn't know why there didn't seem to be an alarm, or why there weren't heavily armed guards chasing after them, but he sure wasn't going to complain about it

The three humans reached another turn and again Trip signaled for Biggs to scout ahead. Normally Trip would have taken the lead, but his reflexes were not quite up to par at the moment. He had used most of his energy dragging the two Vulcan guards back into his cell and locking the door. He didn't know whether they were dead or just stunned, and he hadn't taken the time to check. Frankly, he didn't care. Trip's only goal was to get the hell off this ship and find his way back to the _Enterprise_ alive.

It was just too bad he couldn't take T'Pol with him. He shook his head, momentarily cursing himself for even thinking such a ludicrous thing. Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? It was just a kiss, a little kiss…

_Yeah, right. And the _Enterprise_ is __just__ a garbage scow. _

Biggs gave the "all clear" signal again, but Trip was distracted. Something wasn't right. He had the clear impression that he was going the wrong way. The feeling had been growing on him the closer they got to the shuttlebay. It didn't make sense, but the inkling was undeniable. He was going the _wrong_ way, regardless of what rational thought told him, and Trip was beginning to suspect why he had this feeling.

"Dammit," he muttered in a near whisper.

"Sir?" Hess asked with worry written on her face.

Trip didn't know how to answer her. He didn't know what the hell he was about to do himself. Biggs also stared back at him anxiously. They were afraid of getting caught and he couldn't blame them. Memories of his time in the Vulcan torture booth sliced up to the surface of his mind. Trip shook his head, making a gut decision.

"You two," he whispered, "get to the shuttlecraft. If I'm not there in ten minutes or the Vulcans show up, get the hell out of here."

Biggs looked even more worried at this. "Sir, you aren't coming with us?"

"Not yet," Trip answered with a grimace. "I've got something that I need to do. Ten minutes." Trip pointed the pistol at Biggs. "You leave before then without me, I will find a way off of this rusty bucket and you'll wish the Vulcans still had you holed up in the brig when I do. Got it?"

Biggs and Hess nodded their understanding before they turned the corner of the corridor. Trip, on the other hand, went back the way he came, not at all sure he was making the right decision. What he did know for certain, though, was that the chances he would get himself killed were growing by the minute.

"She damn well better be worth it," he muttered to the empty corridor.

* * *

_**v.**_

When the door slid open to her quarters, a hint of trepidation settled in T'Pol's middle. She stepped into the dark room, noting that nothing seemed out of place. As she summoned the lights, she couldn't stifle the growing worry that was tying her muscles into knots. Although everything appeared to be in order at first glance, something wasn't quite right. Chiding herself for unfounded anxiety, she rubbed her neck with her slender fingers before reaching to unzip the back of her uniform. A movement in the mirror made her breath catch. Turning around, she found Koss sitting on her bed, holding the letter from her family. He was watching her without a sound.

"I see that you have been informed of the change regarding our wedding," Koss said quietly.

T'Pol acutely felt the offense of the invasion of her privacy, though the same niggling uneasiness haunted her. She walked to Koss to relieve him of her personal letter. He grabbed her hand firmly and she fought the urge to jerk it away.

"What is it, T'Pol?" he asked calmly.

"To what are you referring?" she inquired in an equally cool voice, though she was growing more unsettled by his unwelcome presence with each passing minute.

"What is it that makes you resist our union?" clarified Koss. "I do not understand these illogical delays."

"I merely wish to finish my commission aboard this ship," she stated in partial honesty.

T'Pol hadn't planned on speaking with Koss about their impending marriage—not yet. She forced herself to look into his eyes, to put more strength into the truth of her answer. He released her hand and stood to his full height, towering over her petite frame while keeping eye contact with her. Finally, he stepped away, clasping his hands behind his back as he appeared to study her meditation candles.

"Was the meld with the human successful?" he asked after an the uncomfortable silence.

The question, catching T'Pol off guard, brought the memory of the kiss to forefront of her mind. It was a question that she wished she could avoid answering.

"No," she said in a quiet voice.

At this Koss turned to face her once more and gave her a searching look before speaking. "Is that so?"

Vulcans were not supposed to experience fear, but T'Pol was certain she was experiencing it now. There was something in his tone that justified her earlier concerns. Where had he been when he was missing from the bridge? What had he done? These questions swelled in her mind as Koss moved toward her. She resisted the urge to step back when he was nearly on her. He stared at her intently, icily, like he never had before.

Koss leaned down, placed his lips near her sensitive ear and whispered words that made her cold with panic:

"I can smell the human on you."


	13. An Advantageous Connection

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter 13**—_An Advantageous Connection_

_**i.**_

"I can smell the human on you."

The words touched her ear like an icy breeze and T'Pol involuntarily shivered. She knew the statement for what it was—a lie that revealed a frightening truth: Koss had seen her with Trip. He had seen them kiss.

_Vulcans do not experience fear._

T'Pol remained silent, her mind devoid of any words that might explain her conduct. There was no explanation—no _logical_ explanation. She dared not look at him, dared not see the shame and the damage she had inflicted. Tense seconds stretched on in silence, her dread increasing with every beat of her heart.

_Vulcans do not experience fear._

Koss finally broke the silence. "T'Pol," he said softly, coldly. She didn't reply. "T'Pol," he repeated, firmly. Still she said nothing. Then he did something that he'd never done before.

He touched her—unshielded.

His fingers brought her chin up to face him, to see his eyes reflecting what his touch revealed. Rage, pure, unadulterated rage radiated from him, unfettered and exposed. He must have wanted her to feel it, to know it. And lying beneath the fire of his anger were the black threads of frustration and hatred—a hatred that he took _pleasure_ in.

In that one instant, T'Pol understood that he had never cared for her as she had presumed. His constant proximity to her, his appearance of concern for her, all were only manifestations of his need to control her.

_Vulcans do not experience fear._

T'Pol was now aware of the danger she was in. She backed away from him, eyes darting to the door. As if reading her thoughts, Koss stepped between her and her only escape.

She tried to quell the panic that was rising in her bosom. "Leave me," she ordered.

Koss tipped his head to one side, as if he were amused. "When we bonded as children, I knew that you would make a difficult wife." He stepped toward her, causing her to back away further. "I find challenges most desirable, and you are my greatest challenge."

"Leave me!" she commanded forcefully.

Koss stepped closer to her still, ignoring her demand. "I have attempted to be patient, but you only defy me further. You are undisciplined." He took another step toward her, forcing her to move back again. "Perhaps it is illogical, but I find the notion of taming you pleasing." He stepped toward her once more.

T'Pol's back touched the cold bulkhead and her heart stopped. Giving into her overwhelming terror, she attempted to dart around him hoping for escape. Koss' arm shot out and thrust her against the wall with so much force that it sucked the air from her lungs. His hand kept her from collapsing to the floor.

Koss leaned in and spoke quietly in her ear. "You will humiliate me no more."

She squirmed against him. "Let me go," she rasped.

"My patience has grown thin," he said, pressing against her to keep her still. "There are consequences, T'Pol, and you will face them now."

The pressure was like a vise and T'Pol couldn't draw a proper breath. She watched in horror as he brought his right hand to her face. "No!" she gasped as his fingers touched the positions for a mind meld. She clawed at him, fought him, but he was too strong.

"My mind to your mind," he began, ignoring her feeble attempts to break free. Instead he pushed against her harder, further diminishing her capacity to breathe. "My thoughts to your thoughts..."

T'Pol felt the pressure of him trying to enter her mind. It was vile, churning her already fluttering stomach. She fought, pushed back at it. "No!" she whispered futilely.

"Our minds are one," he finished as he sliced through her mental barrier like a jagged knife.

If T'Pol could have breathed, she would have screamed.

* * *

_**ii. **_

The door to the brig opened, admitting Lieutenant Commander Reed. He stepped into the cramped quarters, flanked by two MACOs, with a distinct air of confidence. Jon glared, resisting the urge to spit at the cocky bastard—not that it would have given him any satisfaction. The plexiglass would deny his spittle the pleasure of reaching its target.

Reed brought himself to face the angry captain, his usual smirk playing on his lips. "Good evening," he said, "I trust you've been well treated."

"Cut the bullshit, Reed," Jon snapped. "What do you want?"

"Come now, Jonathan, don't pretend to be so naïve." Reed leaned closer to the glass. "You know what I came for."

"That's Captain Archer to you!" Jon shot back.

Reed shook his head and chuckled. "I hardly think you're in a position to discuss rank with me at the moment."

Jon nearly punched the plexiglass. "How long do you think it's going to take before the rest of the crew figure out that those orders were fabricated?"

"Oh, they're real enough, Jonathon," Reed replied. "There is more than one admiral in Starfleet, after all."

"Admiral Black," the captain breathed, understanding dawning on him. "You're the spy!"

The lieutenant snorted. "It's pathetic you believe that there could be only one crewman aboard this ship loyal to the admiral." The humor left Reed's features as he stared down Jon. "Tell me what I want to know," he demanded.

"Go to hell."

Reed sneered. "One way or another I will find out what Admiral Forrest has you up to." He turned away from Jon and motioned to one of the men he had brought with him.

"Let's see if we can make him more cooperative," he said to the soldier. "I believe that he doesn't fully understand the position he's in." The MACO nodded as the lieutenant made for the door.

This time Jon did pound his fist against the glass. "Reed, I'm going to kill you when I get out of here."

Reed paused and gave the captain an appraising look over his shoulder. "I'd like to see you try," he replied with amusement.

* * *

_**iii.**_

_Blackness. Everywhere, all around was blackness. T'Pol was running, hiding, fighting the beast that was chasing her, devouring her. It was growing, pressing, overwhelming her, terrifying her._

_Fire… Raging fire of anger and frustration overwhelmed her, choking her with the black smoke of hatred. Control, control, control… that was what he wanted, craved, needed._

_She would not be controlled. She would not be tamed. She would not be disciplined._

_T'Pol threw up barriers that stalled the creature for precious seconds and she dug deeper into her mind. She wrapped her strength around the more precious parts of herself as she threw her hatred, her defiance at the savage that came after her._

_He consumed it all. "It is illogical to resist." His calm yet raging voice echoed in the bleakness, beckoning her. She didn't answer, but instead ran further, terrified._

_And still he came, persistent, unstoppable. He stole the bits and pieces of her away that she could no longer protect. "I will have you." His statement only urged her forward, kept her running._

_But there was no place left to hide. Despair filled the darkness, making her want to weep, to scream and still she fought back._

_And then her ears, her __physical__ ears, heard something that brought the smallest light of hope._

"_Get your goddamn hands off of her, you Vulcan bastard!"_

* * *

_**iv.**_

At first nothing happened, and Trip was afraid that Commander Koss was too involved in the mind-meld to notice what he had said. "You heard me!" he yelled as he stepped further into the room, training his weapon on the tall Vulcan. "I said get away from her!"

Trip would have shot him, but Koss was too close to T'Pol. He wasn't a marksman, despite his lucky shot earlier in the brig. He took another step toward Koss, thinking that he'd have to physically grapple with the larger man. Trip would rather not think about how that might turn out, his cheek reminding him of just how strong Vulcans were.

To his relief, Koss finally turned to face him. The relief was short-lived when Trip saw the expression in the Vulcan's eyes. This was not the irritatingly calm, emotionless alien that had observed his torture. No, this bastard was pissed. But so was Trip.

Koss let go of T'Pol, who dropped to the floor in a heap. "Obviously I underestimated you, Commander Tucker," he said, visibly calming.

"Yeah, people often do," Trip replied, still aiming his weapon. He didn't know why he didn't just shoot the bastard, now that T'Pol was free of him.

"This is an intriguing turn of events." Koss stole a glance at the crumpled form on the floor. "Perhaps T'Pol will invoke Kun-ut Kali-fi. You might survive the first moments."

"The Coe-nut—what?" Trip didn't really want to know. _Just shoot, dammit!_

"It is a battle to the death in order to win the right to bond with T'Pol," Koss explained, taking a step towards Trip.

"I'm not interested in your Vulcan games, you sick son of a bitch," Trip spat out as he finally pressed the trigger, watching Koss tumble to the floor. He kicked the Vulcan hard as he stepped over him. "Too bad. I wish I could shove you into that agony booth of yours," Trip muttered and kicked Koss again.

A soft groan caught his attention and Trip rushed to help T'Pol, who was struggling to stand. "You okay?" he asked as he fought the instinct to wrap her in his arms.

"I will be," she answered in a weak voice. "Give me your weapon."

Trip hesitated. Would she take him back to the brig? Could he trust her?

"Give me your weapon," she commanded once more.

She held her hand out expectantly and Trip grudgingly relinquished the weapon. T'Pol made an adjustment to the settings and fired on Koss' limp form. The shot startled Trip as the acrid smell of burning flesh began to fill the room.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked.

"You merely incapacitated him with your shot," she stated clinically. "I adjusted the setting to kill."

Trip stared at her—of all the people to be underestimated. "Damn! Remind me to never get on your bad side," he replied, though inside he was worried what Koss might have done to her to deserve her wrath. It was almost imperceptible, but he could see her shivering.

"Why did you come?" she asked changing the subject.

"After a kiss like that, you didn't expect me to leave without saying goodbye?" he answered with a smile, attempting to lighten the dark mood in the room. T'Pol raised an eyebrow and Trip rolled his eyes. "Listen, darlin', I'd be real interested in carrying on this conversation later, especially if you could tell me how the hell I knew where to find you. But in a few minutes our ride's gonna be taking off, and I don't plan on missing it."

"'Our' ride?" she asked, raising her eyebrow once more.

Trip groaned. _This woman is gonna drive me insane! _"Well, now that you mention it, yes. It'd be pretty difficult to have that conversation without you there," he said with a hint of sarcasm. He hoped that he hadn't risked everything just to have her tell him goodbye.

T'Pol pondered his answer for an agonizing moment. "There is a certain logic to your statement," she finally said, to his relief.

"Great. Now let's get out of here." He grinned as he ushered her to the door.


	14. Plans of Subterfuge

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter 14**—_Plans of Subterfuge_

_**i.**_

The pulse of the warp core could be distracting to anyone that didn't spend much time in the engine room. It throbbed as the heart of the ship, fast or slow—depending on the amount of energy it was required to exert. To those that spent their days in that room, however, it was a comforting sound, relaxing white noise that meant all was well. It was when there was a hiccup in that steady beat that the engineering crew experienced anxiety.

Lieutenant Kelby was experiencing anxiety right now. Of course, the engines were fine, the constant _throb, throb, throb_ reassuring the delta shift that they were doing their jobs well. No, the unease that the acting chief engineer was feeling had nothing to do with anything that simple. Kelby had a decision to make and he wasn't entirely sure that he was making the right choice.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit._

He had spent two shifts with his mind only half focused on the work of keeping the engines in pristine condition. The other half was furiously laying out the pros and cons of any action—or lack of action—he might take since the leadership change on the _ISS Enterprise_. Nothing looked good, and every path seemed to lead to his ass getting thrown into the brig… or worse.

So Kelby went with his gut.

He stood from the tiny desk that was Commander Tucker's and walked around the large engineering room, searching. Finally his eyes lighted on his target: Rostov. The younger man was reviewing the data from a routine diagnostic. With more confidence than he felt, Kelby approached him.

"Ensign Rostov," he said, barely above a whisper. "When you have a minute, I'd like to speak to you."

Rostov looked him over with a bland expression, only the hardness around his eyes betraying his apprehension. "Now is as good a time as any, sir."

Kelby took a deep breath. "Are you Tucker's man?" he asked.

Rostov's face turned dark. "Commander Tucker isn't here, sir," he answered cryptically.

Kelby wanted to groan. The ensign was doing nothing for his nerves. "Rostov, I'm not on a witch hunt here. I need to know, are you Tucker's man?"

Rostov didn't speak at first, instead giving Kelby an intense, searching gaze. The ensign seemed to be deciding whether or not Kelby was trustworthy. When Rostov did speak, it was with a guarded tone. "Yes," was all he said.

That was enough to take the edge off of Kelby's anxiety. "Good," he replied. "Has Reed or any of his people been to see you?"

Again, there was a long pause before a quiet, "no."

Kelby had been counting on that. Reed was never one to bother with anyone who didn't seem to have any power or ambition especially not a simple ensign.

"I need your help," Kelby said to the other engineer. As the lieutenant explained his plan, he watched Rostov's eyes widen just before a dreadful smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

_I hope I'm doing the right thing._ That was becoming Kelby's mantra.

* * *

_**ii.**_

"Fire."

The word rolled off his tongue so easily, so fluidly, that it made Malcolm Reed smile. It was a word that would doom Commander Tucker—if he was still alive—and so Malcolm enjoyed it all the more.

Originally he hadn't wanted to be bothered with going after the Vulcans, but Archer had gotten them nearly there. Malcolm had decided he might as well finish what he'd started a year ago with the little "accident" that had gone awry. A frown crossed the lieutenant's lips.

_I really should find a way to make the bloody Denobulan pay for that one._

Malcolm had given the Vulcans exactly three seconds to answer his hail before giving the command to open fire. He had to cover his bases, of course, for the "official record." Sensor logs could be changed—they had been before—but Malcolm figured he would save himself some tedious work later. After all, efficiency was one of his strengths.

He watched the viewscreen with malicious pleasure as the torpedo smoothly banked across the glittering backdrop of stars and struck the Vulcan ring ship with precision, sending a spray of explosion into space. It would, of course, take far more firepower to destroy the alien vessel—firepower that Malcolm was more than happy to authorize.

It was a fine art, blowing things up, and it was Malcolm's genius.

"Again, ensign," he commanded in a cool voice, feeling the symphony of the moment. Once again a torpedo soared across the viewscreen and smashed into its target. _Oh the beauty of it._ Malcolm opened his mouth to order another when he was rudely interrupted.

"We're being hailed," Hoshi said, her voice the discord in his melody. "Audio only."

Malcolm sneered at the loss of his momentum. "Put them on. Let's see what they have to say."

The speakers cackled with static as a baritone voice spoke. _"Terran vessel, you will cease your illogical attack on our ship or we will be forced to destroy you."_

Malcolm snorted. He was intimately familiar with _Enterprise_'s capabilities—which were far greater than he'd ever led Archer to believe. He'd be a fool if he weren't as familiar with his enemy's abilities as well.

Malcolm was no fool.

"We will gladly cease fire when you surrender," he returned in a bored tone.

"_Clearly, your view of the situation is not rational,"_ the voice protested.

This was getting old and Malcolm wanted to return to the art of destroying the bloody bastards. "Cut transmission," he ordered. "I don't want to be bothered unless they're ready to meet our terms."

"Aye… sir," Hoshi said.

The pause didn't go unnoticed by the acting captain, but he would let it slide for now. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with.

"Fire."

* * *

_**iii.**_

When the Vulcan ship shuddered the first time, Lieutenant Anna Hess had wanted to close the shuttlepod's hatch and blast out of the bay. She hadn't signed up for this. She'd only wanted to escape the hellhole she had been raised in and live out her Starfleet career hidden in some engineering room on some starship. She certainly didn't sign up to go on away missions, especially ones that ended in her capture by freakishly strong yet impassive pointy-eared aliens. It wasn't the first time in the past few days that Hess had cursed herself for being too good at her job.

And no matter what Biggs said to the contrary, she knew that he was scared out of his mind too. But they waited just as the commander ordered. Why? Because they both knew that Commander Tucker was scary as hell when he lost his temper and he would make good on his promise if they dared to leave him behind.

Ten minutes. The clock was ticking far too slowly for Hess' racing heart.

The ship shuddered once more and Hess had serious doubts that they would make it out of this alive. Maybe it was time to cut and run, regardless of what Tucker might do to them—_if_ he survived this. Hess was about to share these thoughts with Biggs when she saw something that made her heart jump, and not in a good way.

The door to the shuttle bay opened and in sauntered Commander Tucker, hands in the air, followed by a petite Vulcan holding a weapon to his back.

_Oh no!_

"Biggs!" she screamed at the lieutenant who was sitting at the helm of the shuttlepod. "Get us out of here!" Hess frantically began closing the hatch.

"Wait!"

Acting from years of programming to follow her commanding officer's orders, Hess hesitated. Out of sheer morbid curiosity she looked out of the hatch. Commander Tucker stood facing the alien woman, a hand held out to her.

"Oh come on, T'Pol," Tucker said in an exasperated tone. "Just give me the damn thing. You're scarin' my people."

Hess watched in wide-eyed astonishment as the Vulcan obeyed and handed him the weapon.

"Thanks." Tucker smiled. _He smiled! At a Vulcan!_ "Now let's get off this bucket before it blows up."

As they boarded the shuttlepod, the alien spoke in a surprisingly rich voice. "It is unlikely that your vessel has the means to destroy this ship."

"I swear, T'Pol, you're gonna give me a headache. Just sit down and let me do my thing. We can argue about this later," the commander countered.

Again, the Vulcan complied and Hess realized that this "T'Pol" was coming with them. A prisoner? Tucker's behavior said differently.

"Hess!" The commander's voice made her jump. "What the hell are you staring at? Close that hatch then get over here and help me save our asses!"

"Uh, yes, sir!"

* * *

_**iv.**_

Hoshi watched Malcolm, hating every inch of him as the _Enterprise_ rocked from the Vulcans' counter attack. She'd always hated him, just as she hated Jon and Tucker and every other person on this ship. She only tolerated Malcolm because advancing her career was more important than sharing a bed with someone she actually liked.

Malcolm had promised to make her a lieutenant, which was more than Jon had ever offered. Malcolm had better come through, or else he might not wake up one morning. And it wouldn't be the same half-hearted effort like her attempt on to Jon, either.

"Sir, a shuttlepod has emerged from the Vulcan ship," Lieutenant Sharp exclaimed behind her. "It's ours."

Hoshi watched Malcolm's face darken. Obviously, he hadn't counted on Tucker or any of his team managing to escape from the Vulcans. For purely absurd reasons, she found that crimp in his plans gratifying.

"Scan the bloody thing!" Malcolm snapped. Hoshi tried not to smirk. She shouldn't be happy that his plans were falling apart since she would go down with him if he failed.

At least, that's what everyone thought.

A blip on her own monitor caught her eye. The shuttlepod was hailing the _Enterprise_. Hoshi pressed the button and listened to her earpiece.

"Enterpris_e, this is Commander Tucker. Do you copy?"_

Hoshi said nothing.

"Three humans and a Vulcan, sir," Sharp blurted out.

"Enterprise_, this is Commander Tucker. Do you copy!"_

"It's obviously some Vulcan ploy," Malcolm sneered. "Destroy it."

"Enterprise_! Answer, dammit!"_

Hoshi still said nothing, but instead typed a text message. She encrypted it and pressed the button to send it to the shuttlepod. She really shouldn't have. Malcolm would be pissed if he found out.

But she found she didn't care.


	15. Fate's Fickle Heart

Disclaimer: See first chapter  
_Rating: T (for language and violence)_

* * *

**Chapter 15**—_Fate's Fickle Heart_

_**i.**_

Thousands of tiny symbols danced across the small screen like random static. They seemed to tease Trip, taunting him with the secret that was hidden somewhere beneath the layers of chaos. He was already expecting the worst after his hails were only answered with an encrypted text message. Whether that meant that the _ISS Enterprise_ was too busy engaging the Vulcans to give aid to the tiny shuttlepod or that Archer had finally grown tired of his uneasy alliance with the chief engineer, Trip didn't know. What he did know was that trying to decrypt this message while flying into a space battle was making him cranky. Very cranky.

He needed answers and he needed them right now.

With a groan of exasperation, he tried using some of the more complicated engineering algorithms to break the code. The static suddenly winked out, replaced by four words that made Trip blink. He read them again, the bold letters staring back at him defiantly. It was worse than he imagined—much worse.

_Reed is in command._

That was all. In fifteen letters the lives of everyone in the shuttlepod went to hell in a hand-basket.

"Sonofabitch!"

A new, deeply disturbing understanding blossomed. Reed wouldn't just be satisfied by ignoring them and flying away. No, the conniving Brit would make sure that Trip and his crew didn't survive at all. And unfortunately, the odds were in Reed's favor. A shuttlepod was no match for an NX-class warship.

A blinking red dot on the monitor jolted Trip into action. It was true that they probably wouldn't make it out of this alive, but he would be damned if he didn't try. He grabbed the controls and banked the shuttlepod hard astern, the engines whining in protest. The small craft shuddered as the torpedo exploded nearby—but fortunately far enough away to do nothing more than shake them up.

"Hang on to your seats! It's gonna get a little rough!" he warned as he turned the ship again. If Reed was going to put them into an early grave, Trip was going to make him work for it.

"Sir?" Hess' quivering voice came from behind him.

"Let's just say that they're not puttin' up any 'Welcome Home' banners for us back on _Enterprise_." He glanced at the monitors, trying to decide which way to run. Putting out a distress signal was out of the question, especially this deep in Vulcan space. Things were looking bad, worse than bad. "Biggs," he said, glancing at the lieutenant just behind him, "I want you to watch for any stray torpedoes."

"Uh, here comes another one, sir! Port side!"

"Dammit!" Trip wrenched the controls and the ship groaned. The torpedo exploded close, but it only made the shuttlepod shudder.

"Are they trying to kill us?" Hess asked incredulously, fear quivering her voice.

"Yes!"

"Why?" Hess practically screamed the question.

Trip ground his teeth. He wanted to shake some sense into the young woman. "I don't have time for this right now!" He turned to face her. "I need everything I can get from this engine and you're gonna make sure that happens. Now do your damn job!"

Hess stared back at him, wide-eyed, looking like she was trying to decide which was more terrifying: Death or an angry Commander Tucker.

"Another one! Behind us, sir!" Biggs' shout forced Trip's attention back to the controls.

He turned the shuttlepod again and brought it to a full stop, hoping that the torpedo would overshoot them. It wasn't enough, though. Dealing with Hess had cost him precious seconds. When the torpedo detonated Trip was thrown from his seat against the control panel. A shower of sparks flooded the room, followed by the smell of singed circuits.

"Status!" he demanded as he stood, coughing.

"If I understand this console correctly, it would appear that one of the… EPS conduits has ruptured." Trip spun around at the sound of T'Pol's husky voice. She looked back at him calmly, as if she had just announced that it was time for tea.

"What the—? Where's—?" Trip cut off the question when he saw the answer for himself. Biggs was lying unconscious on the floor at T'Pol's feet. He turned back to his own control panel to confirm what the Vulcan said. Damn! She was right. Without power to the helm, they were dead in the water.

_Well, am I a goddamn engineer or what?_

Trip pushed past T'Pol and dug out the tool kit from beneath the bench and hollered at Hess. "Lieutenant, help me move Biggs to one of the benches and secure him." When she didn't respond, Trip looked at Hess, and saw that her face was unnaturally pale. He wondered if she had even heard him. She was staring blankly through him. _Ah hell!_ "Lieutenant!"

Her eyes snapped into focus. "Yes, sir?"

"Give me a hand with Biggs then get in the pilot's seat. When I reroute helm control I want you to get us the hell out of here. Move!" he snapped, making her jump. She obeyed. He'd pity the younger woman later, when he had time for it.

After they moved Biggs, Trip tossed a look at T'Pol. "Keep watch for those torpedoes or anything else they might throw at us."

Without waiting for her to acknowledge him, he turned his attention to tearing up the floor at the rear of the shuttlepod. Rerouting power was the easy part, getting to the damn junction—now_ that_ was the pain in the ass.

"Any torpedoes yet?" he demanded once he was shoulder deep into the floor, feeling his way to the junction.

"It appears that your ship is concentrating their firepower on… the Vulcans."

_Thank god for small miracles._ The thought came just as his fingers made contact with live wire. "Sonofabitch!" Trip cursed, jerking his hand out to suck on his burned fingers. He forced his hand back in, despite the pain, and was rewarded with the cold metal of the junction box. Trip quickly made the necessary adjustments. "Now, Hess!" The pod suddenly jumped, and Trip was tossed into the rear bulkhead.

"A torpedo appears to be on an intercept course with us," T'Pol coolly informed him.

"Evasive maneuvers!" He bounded the two steps to the helm as Hess jerked the ship into a turn.

_What was it the Klingons said? Today is a good day to die._

"Well, it seems like a damn crappy day to die to me," Trip muttered to himself just before the explosion.

* * *

_**ii.**_

While dividing the ship's firepower between two targets wasn't ideal—certainly when one was a scrap of metal that couldn't fight back—Malcolm found it exhilarating. He was killing two birds with one stone, all while displaying the cool efficiency that he prided himself on. Ridding himself of Commander Tucker and some of his loyal team members would make Malcolm's transition into captain easier. Admiral Black had assured him that he would receive the_ Enterprise_ as his commission, and the admiral never reneged on a promise to those who were loyal to him.

And defeating the Vulcans? That might well lead to a war—a war that Malcolm felt was long overdue. The Terran Empire had stifled its own growth by only expanding into empty territory. It was time to show the galaxy its strength. It was time for other alien races to bow to the superiority of humans.

"The shuttlepod's engine is disabled," Ensign Michaels announced at tactical.

"Concentrate all weapons on the Vulcans." Malcolm ordered. After he was finished with those bloody aliens, he'd take care of the shuttlepod.

The ship rocked as the Vulcans returned fire. Acceptable damage—more than he would have liked, but still within his calculated parameters. Malcolm smirked. He'd always believed in destiny, and it was a beautiful thing to watch being fulfilled.

* * *

_**iii.**_

"Damn idiot is going to get us all killed!" Jon yelled to no one in particular, bracing himself as the _Enterprise _groaned from another impact. The ship shuddered again, and this time the captain was thrown to the floor, intimately reminding him of the injuries Reed's men had inflicted on him earlier.

Another sound caught his attention, and he drew himself back up. Were those shots he heard? The brig doors opened suddenly, and Jon covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut when he saw the grenade tossed in. The glass did little to muffle the deafening boom as the weapon exploded.

Jon lifted his eyelids and saw one of Tucker's men step over the bodies of the guards through the curling smoke: Ensign Rostov. The young engineer was wearing a self-congratulatory grin as he punched the code to open the cell doors. He tossed Jon and Mayweather weapons.

"Are there others?" the captain asked.

"Plenty," Rostov confirmed. "Want your ship back, Captain?"

"More than you know," Jon answered, stepping through the brig with his phase pistol in the lead. Two more of Tucker's crew stood guard in the corridor.

"Looks like we've got a bridge to rescue." Jon's mouth twisted into an unnatural smile as he led the men down the hallway.

Payback was going to be sweet.

* * *

_**iv.**_

"Sir, that last shot took out our weapons!"

Hoshi watched Malcolm leap from his chair. "What?" The would-be captain rushed to the security station. His face contorted in anger as he looked at the report. "Impossible!" Malcolm turned his furious face to Hoshi. "Get me Engineering."

She suppressed a smirk at the lovely way things were falling apart. If he suspected that she was the reason why the shuttlepod lurched just before the first torpedo could strike… Well, she didn't care anyway. She pressed the button and nodded her head, letting a hint of a glare darken her eyes.

God, how she _hated_ him.

"_Kelby here."_ The lieutenant's voice was hassled.

"I want my weapons back!" Malcolm snapped. He was a bastard, but maybe not as stupid as Hoshi thought. Not that it mattered.

"_We've taken heavy damage, Sir—"_

"Don't play that bloody game with me, Lieutenant!" Malcolm cut him off.

"_Sir?"_ Kelby's voice sounded so innocent that Hoshi almost laughed outright.

Malcolm's face was turning red. "Get Security down to Engineering to teach that _imbecile_ what happens when he disobeys a commanding officer," he ordered through clenched teeth. He was so wrapped up in his rage that he didn't notice the hiss of the turbolift doors. Hoshi heard but she said nothing, watching silently as the captain stepped onto the bridge, aiming a phase pistol at Malcolm. She idly wondered if the weapon was set on stun or kill.

"Belay that order, Ensign—if you value your life." Jon spoke in a cool voice.

Malcolm stood erect, turning his eyes slowly to the man that should be in the brig. "I suppose you're going to shoot me now," he said to the captain in a mocking tone as other armed men, including Mayweather, stepped off the lift and surrounded the bridge. "Don't believe that will put an end to it, Archer."

Hoshi rolled her eyes. Really, these '_whose phase pistol is bigger'_ games were getting old. She suddenly realized that she couldn't bear watching another one.

Almost without thinking, she pulled out her dagger and threw it. With exhilaration, she watched as it rotated gracefully in the air before embedding itself into Malcolm's chest. His hand instinctively went to the handle as his astonished eyes followed the direction that it came from. Rage and betrayal washed over his face as he glared at Hoshi. She winked at him just as his eyes glazed over and he dropped to the ground.

That was _much_ more fun than a stand-off between macho bastards.

Jon swung his weapon around and trained it on her. "Whose side are you on?" he asked, his expression dark.

"Mine," she answered honestly, enjoying the new appraisal Jon was giving her. Maybe he'd finally see her as more than something to keep his bed warm at night. "The Vulcans are firing again," she reported casually as if she hadn't just killed a man.

"Evasive maneuvers!" Jon ordered, and Mayweather practically threw the helmsman out of his seat. "Kelby," the captain said as he raised engineering on the comm, "I'll take those weapons now."

"_You've got it, sir"_

Hoshi caught Jon staring at her once more. Yes, whether or not she remained an ensign…she had just gotten a promotion.

* * *

_**v.**_

Trip's mind was working frantically—though, in truth, he couldn't remember what it was like to be relaxed anymore. The last torpedo had damaged the plasma exhaust ducts. Luckily the denotation didn't ignite the drive plasma or else they would have been a pretty little fireworks show. Right now, though, he didn't have enough power for much of anything besides life support.

At least they had two good things going for them: the _Enterprise_ didn't seem to be firing at them anymore—most likely because the shuttlepod was disabled. And fortunately, despite the engine being offline, the small craft was drifting slowly—agonizingly slowly—away from the crossfire between the two spaceships.

What Trip needed was that flash of inspired insight that had earned him his reputation of being the most brilliant engineer in Starfleet. Repairing damaged exhaust ducts wasn't something that he could do from inside the shuttlepod. If only…

"The Vulcan ship is retreating." T'Pol's statement, delivered with a calmness that he envied, interrupted Trip's train of thought. _Damn._ Reed would probably come after them now and finish the job.

"We're being hailed by Enterprise," Hess announced. She sounded so hopeful. Trip shook his head. Poor girl.

He considered not answering the hail, sure it was Reed calling to gloat just before he turned them into space dust. But in the end, it didn't really matter. Finally Trip pressed the button to receive the transmission.

"_Looking for a ride?"_

Trip blew out the breath he hadn't realized that he was holding at the sound of Archer's voice. He never thought he'd be this happy to talk to the captain.

"If it wouldn't be any trouble," Trip replied with a grin on his face. He glanced at Hess and saw relieved tears glistening in her eyes.

"_We'll be there in a few minutes. Archer out."_

"Let's see if we can get the maneuvering thrusters online. I've had enough bumpy rides for one day," Trip said to Hess. For the first time since they left on their ill-fated away mission, he saw her smile.

He couldn't help but smile back.


	16. Endings and Beginnings

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language and sensuality)_

_A/N: Get comfy, this chapter is about 4 times as long as the previous ones!_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**—_Endings and Beginnings_

_**i.**_

_It is done._

The sentence formed in T'Pol's mind, casting all doubt from her. She had made her decision. It was illogical to dwell on it as the human ship—the _Enterprise_—loomed before them, growing in the window as it approached the shuttlecraft. Whether or not her choice was a mistake, made in a moment when her emotions were too close to the surface, was irrelevant. There would be no turning back now, despite the apprehension that had taken residence in her bosom.

She could only go forward.

The blond head of Commander Tucker drew her attention. She studied him as he piloted the small craft. The effect that this human had on her was disconcerting. It was irrational and overwhelming and… most pleasing. She felt a small flutter in her middle when, as if sensing her thoughts, he turned to face her and smiled. T'Pol took some comfort in the knowledge that she had the same unique affect on this being that she barely knew.

No, she corrected herself, not a stranger, not anymore.

"Hess," Trip said, taking his eyes off of T'Pol to look at the other female. "Take over, will ya?" The young woman nodded mutely, apparently still suffering some distress. Trip patted Hess softly on the shoulder as he stood. T'Pol felt… uncomfortable with his open physical contact with the other human. Another emotion tried to surface as well, one that she did not care to acknowledge.

His blue eyes were on her once more but the smile had faded from his lips. Without speaking, he ushered her gently to the rear of the small cabin, his hand to her back. She was wholly aware of his touch and it took a moment for her to notice that he'd gestured for her to take a seat on the unoccupied bench. Seeing no reason to resist, she obeyed. He squatted near her, placing a hand on her knee. She stared at it, fixated with the electric hum of his physical contact.

It had been entirely too long since she last meditated.

"A penny for your thoughts?" His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke.

T'Pol raised her eyes and found him smiling again, though this time with reserve. "What is a 'penny'?" Her inquiry was met with a soft chuckle.

Trip shook his head. "It's a sayin' that means 'What are you thinkin' about?'"

"I see." An idiom. That, unfortunately, was something that was not part of her instruction during her study of the Terran language. "I was contemplating my—" she stopped and amended, "our situation." Trip ran his fingers along his scalp, mussing his hair. T'Pol refrained from reaching out and setting it right again. It was past time for her to meditate—long past.

"You and me both," he replied with a small sigh. "I've gotta figure out how to explain you to the Cap'n."

"Indeed."

He gave her a searching look. "Got any special skills besides being a good kisser?" Her mortification must have been plain as his expression quickly changed from a leer to concern. "Hey, hey. I was just teasin' ya a little, darlin'."

T'Pol felt relief wash over her. That her emotions were so close to the surface was disturbing.

"So, what are your specialties? I take it you're not the type to sit around my cabin all day, waitin' for me to come home at night."

T'Pol pondered the question, deciding which skills would be most beneficial to the human crew of the _Enterprise_—within reason. There were some abilities that she was not comfortable in revealing. "My specialties lie in the sciences, though I am proficient in some other areas as well."

He smiled in response, evidently pleased with her answer. "Good."

A question floated up in her mind, and she hesitated, unsure that she wanted to know the answer yet. It nagged at her as he returned her gaze with that alluring smile. Finally she decided to ask, despite her trepidation. "Are we to share living quarters?"

She was fascinated by how many expressions could cross Commander Tucker's face in a matter of seconds. Initially, his eyes widened in what she believed to be surprise, followed closely by a thoughtful look where he sucked the insides of his cheeks. The expression he finally settled on was the familiar lecherous grin that she found so disturbingly appealing.

"Well, I can't say that the thought hasn't crossed my mind," he admitted, flicking his tongue across his lower lip. It was… distracting. "'Course, I understand if you need your space—that is, if I can convince Archer to keep you."

He was worried, it wasn't difficult to read the concern on his features. T'Pol had thought about that possibility—that this Captain Archer would not be willing to integrate her into the crew. However, she was prepared to make herself invaluable. Before she could speak to Trip's concerns, the shuttlepod lurched with a clanging sound.

"The docking arm," Trip explained as he stood. Her knee felt surprisingly cool where his touch disappeared. He reached a hand out to her which she took tentatively. "We're home," he announced with a smile that didn't quite reach his blue eyes.

"Indeed."

* * *

_**ii.**_

"Aw, hell."

This was not the homecoming that Trip had been expecting. Of course, it fit right in with the crappy day that he was already having, but he couldn't help but be disappointed when he stepped out of the hatch of the shuttlepod only to be faced with the wrong end of a phase rifle—a phase rifle in the hands of Amanda Cole.

No, things were just not going his way today.

"We're here to escort you to the captain," Amanda announced, nodding to the other MACO at her side. She was giving Trip a glare that he was sure he didn't deserve—but hell, he'd never pretended to understand women anyway. As if to punctuate that thought, he heard the recognizable delicate footsteps of T'Pol as she exited the shuttlepod behind him. He watched her as she stepped beside him, her face expressionless as she took in the scene.

If it were possible—and apparently it was—Amanda's face hardened even further when she laid eyes on the petite Vulcan. Her full lips were tightened to a thin line when she returned to glower at Trip. "Let's go, Tucker," she ordered in a cold voice. "The Vulcan comes too."

Trip and T'Pol stepped forward and the other soldier swung back behind them, nudging the engineer none too gently in the direction of the shuttlebay doors. Amanda fell in behind them as they passed. Trip bit back the tirade that threatened to erupt from his mouth. He was not about to pay for Reed's unsuccessful coup if that's what this was about, but shouting at the two MACOs wouldn't help. The last thing he needed was to give those trigger-happy soldiers an excuse to open fire. It would put T'Pol in danger and that must be avoided at all costs.

Funny thing, that. Two days ago he was looking for ways to get under her skin, and now… well, he still liked getting under her skin, but he would die before he let anything happen to her. That was a damn good kiss to change a man like that. Trip shook his head. No, not just a good kiss—not even a great kiss—but a mind-blowing, off the charts, fireworks kiss.

_I've turned into one huge walking hormone._ The thought made him grimace.

"It appears that events are not transpiring as you desired." T'Pol spoke, interrupting his thoughts. He opened his mouth to reply but was stopped when Amanda jabbed the butt of her rifle into T'Pol's back, causing her to miss a step.

"No talking, _Vulcan_," Amanda sneered, spitting the last word like a vulgar curse.

Within seconds Trip was on top of Amanda, pummeling the snot out of her pretty face...in his mind he was, anyway. That was something else he couldn't do without endangering T'Pol—at least right now. Instead he glared back at her. "That's enough, Corporal Cole," he said emphasizing her rank. She may be "escorting" them but he was still a senior officer.

"It's Sergeant Cole!" she snapped, her face reddening. _Sergeant?_ Just what the hell happened in the three days that he was gone?

"Congratulations on your promotion," he replied, not even attempting to sound pleasant. She had struck T'Pol after all. "I'm surprised that Hayes gave it to you so soon." Implication was dripping in his tone and by the way her lips curled in a snarl, he knew she hadn't missed it.

"I'd advise you to remain quiet as well, sir," growled Amanda. The look she was giving him made him want to report to sickbay with stab wounds from all the invisible daggers flying from her eyes.

"So I'm assumin' that you all fell on the right side of that little incident while I was away," Trip said after walking a few minutes in tense silence. "Where is Hayes, anyway?"

Amanda gave him that thousand-flying-daggers look again. "It's none of your business, Tucker, no matter how good you are in bed."

Out of the corner of his eye, Trip noticed that T'Pol missed a step again, but this time not because of Amanda's rifle. Trip hazarded a look in her direction and found her staring back at him with that all too familiar flicker in her eyes. _Sonofabitch!_ He had to face the wrath of two women, one that he'd scorned and another he wanted as his lover—and maybe even more.

Could this day get any worse?

* * *

_**iii.**_

Everything was gray, shades of gray. Gray walls, gray floors and gray doors. T'Pol found the lack of color surprising considering how…lively human personalities appeared to be. She had expected something brighter, more vibrant. It was intriguing that her ship, built by a people that spent their lives suppressing the same whims of fancy that humans seemed to invite, was more aesthetically appealing.

It was possible that her perception of humans was skewed by her more intimate knowledge of Trip. He appeared to be more animated that the few other humans that she had encountered thus far. It was one of his more appealing attributes, oddly enough. His open displays of emotion were the antithesis to her stoic Vulcan nature and yet she found them fascinating. Certainly he must find her calm demeanor appealing in return. Of course he did. Of course his attraction had little to do with the way he would run his eyes over her petite form and dance his tongue across his lips.

Of course.

"… _no matter how good you are in bed."_

Those words surfaced in her mind, interrupting her pleasant musings and making her brow furrow. What did they mean? T'Pol strongly suspected that they had little to do with how well Trip slept. Was that female his companion, his bondmate? The glares the woman had given him did not appear to speak of affection, but T'Pol was woefully lacking in knowledge when it came to human mating customs. What other surprises lay in wait for her?

Her jaw tightened in frustration as her speculations only led to more questions. She would need to speak with Trip privately. If he was planning to take her as a mate then he would have to take her as a Vulcan mate, regardless of his mating traditions. There was a limit to how far she was willing to compromise for this human. It was also becoming apparent that there was a limit to how well she was able to suppress emotion without meditation. It took considerable effort not to turn around strike at the woman that would speak of her human in such intimate tones.

_Her_ human? Meditation moved to the top of her priority list.

Abruptly, they stopped in front of a gray door, just as dull and uninteresting as every other door seen on their short journey, but different in the two soldiers standing guard to either side. Both wore sober expressions that would be agreeable on a Vulcan. One studiously ignored the group, continuing to survey the corridor in all directions, while the other pressed a button next to the door.

"Sir, Commander Tucker is here… with the _Vulcan_," he announced. Why did humans say her species' name with such disdain? Another question for which she had no answer. Another question for Trip.

"_Send them in."_

Within seconds the monochrome door slid open and T'Pol was roughly shoved into the room. Giving in to the un-Vulcan-like urge, she turned and fixed the female soldier with a cold stare, memorizing every detail of her face. The next time they met… She stifled the irrational thought. The next time they met, most likely T'Pol would have meditated and would have regained the ability to ignore the disagreeable female completely.

The door closed, and T'Pol turned her attention to the small room. It was as drab as the rest of the ship, the only reprieve from the monotonous gray was the display of various weaponry. Most were unfamiliar to her, daggers of unique design and size, and some projectile weapons—but she did recognize a Klingon bat'leth and surprisingly, a Vulcan lirpa.

"What's with the warm welcome?" Trip asked in a displeased voice.

His question drew her eyes to the man sitting behind the gray desk. She recognized the grim-faced man from her meld with Trip. Jonathan Archer, captain of the _ISS Enterprise, _stared back at the two of them, his hand fingering the scar on his throat as he studied Trip. When his hard eyes turned to T'Pol, his mouth contorted into an unpleasant sneer.

Archer spread his arms and leaned back into his chair with a smile that only touched his lips. "I can't be too careful these days, can I?" The darkness in his eyes belied the light tones in his voice. When neither she nor Trip made a comment, Archer dropped his arms and leaned forward. "What did you think I would do when you brought one of them on board?" He jabbed a finger at T'Pol.

Perhaps convincing the captain that he needed her was not going to be as simple as she had anticipated. T'Pol's confidence dropped minutely.

"Her name is T'Pol," replied Trip. She looked at him and saw the muscles in his jaw tightening. A familiar redness began to darken his face. He was going to become volatile and she would need to prevent the explosion that was coming.

"She's pretty, Trip," Archer commented. He was studying her, his expression unreadable. "Hell, I'd even say she was beautiful—if she weren't a Vulcan." He turned his gaze to Trip. "I'll be damned if I take some _Vulcan_ on board just so you can get laid every day."

T'Pol was unfamiliar with the term "get laid" but it was plain from Trip's reaction that Archer's statement was derogatory. Trip's face darkened further and he bared his teeth as if he were a wild sehlat about to strike. It was the same expression he'd worn just before he shot Koss.

"I am capable of defending my honor," she interjected in a low voice, placing a placating hand on Trip's arm. Before he could argue—as he invariably would—she turned her attention to Captain Archer. "It is impossible to offend me," she explained coldly, receiving a snort from the human. She took an imposing step forward. "However, if you continue to upset Commander Tucker further, I will regrettably be forced to demonstrate the superiority of Vulcan physiology."

Archer ran his eyes over her small frame, a half-smile curling the corner of his mouth. Undoubtedly he was forming an inaccurate opinion of her ability to act on her threat. "Is that so?" His eyes remained on her for a moment longer and then with a dismissive grunt, he turned back to Trip. "I don't keep whores on my ship."

Trip took a stride forward, his hands clenched in tight fists—so tight that his knuckles turned white. "No, you just make them your communication officers," he accused through gritted teeth.

His claim made little sense to T'Pol, but evidently it had great meaning to Archer as the same red hue of rage colored the captain's severe features. "At least I have sense enough to stick to my own species instead of looking for it in a filthy Vulcan bitch—or is that all you can get these days?" He sneered.

Now _that_ T'Pol understood, and she reacted with quiet speed. In an instant, she stepped around the desk and was behind Archer. She wrenched his arm up his back in an uncomfortable angle and firmly pushed his torso against the top of the desk.

"I warned you," she said calmly as Archer struggled against her unsuccessfully. "I am a deserter," she explained with surprising ease. Odd that it was this moment when she realized how fully she accepted her decision. "Commander Tucker and I have not engaged in sexual relations. If we had it would not be your concern."

Archer barked a disbelieving laugh. She jerked his arm again, causing him to grunt. She retrieved a small crystal disk from a pocket in her uniform—it something that she refused to leave the V'Laran without despite Trip's rushing. Placing her elbow against the captain's back to keep him restrained, she held the disk in front of his eyes.

"I am an accomplished scientist, among other things, and this," she said, waving the small item, "is a copy of the Vulcan database. As a member of your crew I would be obligated to turn it over to you. Otherwise, as a Vulcan I must destroy it to keep it from falling into your hands."

His eyes were mesmerized by the disk, thoughtfulness washing over his face. "Let me up," he finally demanded. When she hesitated he growled at her. "I said let me up, dammit!"

She released him and, with the same earlier swiftness, returned to Trip's side.

Archer straightened, rubbing his shoulder and fixing her with a threatening glare. "I don't like having my hand forced," he snarled as he fingered the scar on his throat once more. "How do I know that disk is what you say it is?"

"It would be illogical for me to lie." Archer rolled his eyes with doubt. Perhaps logic would not be enough for this human. T'Pol suppressed a sigh. "Make me a member of your crew and I will give you the disk for verification. If it is not what I say it is, then I'm sure that you will act accordingly."

As the captain mulled his decision over, T'Pol took the opportunity to glance at Trip. He was wearing an expression that seemed to mix shock and pride. She found his reaction illogically pleasing.

"All right, give it to me. I lost my science officer recently." Archer left something unsaid, and T'Pol was sure that the loss was related to the mutiny that had transpired on the ship. As she handed him the disk, he grabbed her hand. She wanted to recoil from the oily feeling his touch gave her. "Don't think for a minute that I won't have you watched. One step out of line and I'll toss you both out of the nearest airlock."

"I expect no less," she replied in a tone as cool as his.

Trip spoke up then. "Well, now that we're all one big happy family, I guess I'll go show T'Pol her quarters now."

"She can have Reed's cabin." Archer waved a dismissive hand, his eyes on the disk. "He won't be needing them anymore."

Trip placed a hand on the small of T'Pol's back and ushered her toward the door. She found his touch comforting, calming after the repugnancy of Archer. Before they had taken more than a step, Archer stopped them.

"Wait." They both turned to face him. He shifted his gaze between Trip and T'Pol, appearing wary. "Debriefing at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, Commander. Dismissed."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow as they left. So, she was still not to know of this secret mission in Vulcan space, even now that she was a member of the human crew. She found her curiosity piqued even further. It was illogical, but then again much of her logic seemed to have left her since she'd met Commander Tucker.

* * *

_**iv.**_

"Here it is."

Finally. It had taken them far longer than Trip liked to get to this destination. Their first delay had been sickbay—a reluctant decision of Trip's after seeing T'Pol wrinkle her nose several times. She was stuck on a ship full of smelly humans, and there was no point in forcing her to deal with it if Phlox could help, despite Trip's unease around the doctor.

Phlox, for his part, was far too excited at the prospect of studying Vulcan physiology. He was more than eager to help, even offering to remove T'Pol's olfactory nerves entirely. It was an offer that she calmly declined, showing none of the disgust that Trip felt. In short order, the doctor had managed to create some nasal inhibitors, and Trip hurried T'Pol toward the exit as soon as Phlox was finished.

Unfortunately he didn't hurry fast enough. Phlox stopped him with a suggestion that Trip let him take care of 'that ugly bruise' on Trip's cheek. The bile in his stomach rose. Phlox didn't like his grand experiment to be marred in any way. He even complained about the scar Trip purposely kept on his cheek. _Good old Doctor Frankenstein's concern for his monster._ Trip declined and left Phlox muttering something about sentimental humans.

The next unavoidable stop was at the quartermaster's. T'Pol had brought nothing but the clothing she was wearing, and being a member of the crew now, she would need a uniform. Unlike the doctor, the quartermaster was less than thrilled about helping out a Vulcan, his prejudice as plain as the sun on a clear day. Trip came close to threatening bodily harm to get the man to comply. In the end, they walked away with some Starfleet issue necessities and a promise that tailor-made clothing would be produced quickly. Trip was sure that he'd have to toss a few more threats around to get that promise fulfilled in a timely manner.

The last delay was Reed's quarters—now T'Pol's—only three doors down from his own. Trip wasn't all that surprised that Hoshi had been the one to do the security officer in. The whispers on the ship were that the comm officer had been double dipping with Reed and Archer, and it had been only a matter of time until one of them got the sharp end of her dagger. What had stunned Trip, though, was that Hoshi had killed Reed with surprising finesse on the bridge at the climax of his mutiny falling apart. Trip wished he'd been there to see it.

When Trip and T'Pol crossed the threshold into her new quarters, it was clear right away that it was unsuitable. The cabin was still filled with the dead man's belongings. Trip had thought that Archer had an impressive collection of weapons, but the captain had nothing on Reed. There were some things in the room that could only be defined as torture devices—very disturbing torture devices. It was certainly not a place for T'Pol to spend the night. After a few calls, Trip set up to have the cabin cleared out the next day. He tried gallantly to appear disappointed that she would have to spend the night with him, but he failed miserably.

Now here they were in front of his quarters. Trip pressed the code to unlock the door, feeling anticipation rise as the door slid to the side. His mind was already working on a way to get another one of those soul-melting kisses—hopefully more.

One glance at the disheveled state of his quarters sobered him up quickly. There were clothes all over the floor, PADDs scattered over his desk and a few little projects that he'd been tinkering with sitting at the foot of his bed. T'Pol looked around the room with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry about the mess," he apologized with an embarrassed grin. She inclined her head and wrinkled her nose. "Those nasal inhibitors not workin'?"

"They appear to work just fine. It seemed a suitable place to test them."

"If you want a real test," Trip said, hurriedly picking up clothing, "I can take ya to the ship's gym."

"Perhaps another time."

There was silence as he hastily made his cabin a little cleaner. Every so often he would steal a glance at T'Pol who stood near the door watching. It seemed surreal that she was there in his room. Just a few short hours ago, he wouldn't have believed it possible and yet here she was. At least the day was going to end well. Very well.

"Well, that's that," he said when he finished. He plopped down on the bed and patted the space next to him. T'Pol made no move to join him. "Okay. I guess we can get the sleepin' arrangements squared away pretty quickly. You'll take the bed, and I'll take the floor."

"These are your quarters. The floor is more than adequate for my needs."

Trip looked at her and knew there was no way in hell that he was going to let her sleep on the deck plating. "I don't think so. The bed is yours."

"My presence is…unexpected. It would be illogical for you to give up your bed."

"Are you…are you arguing with me about this?" he asked incredulously, frustration causing him to rise. "This is my place and you're not sleeping on the floor."

"You are being irrational."

"Irrational?" Trip took a step closer. _Irrational?_

"Yes, irrational," she replied in that damned calm voice, moving towards him as well.

"Darlin', you don't want to see me when I'm irrational," he returned menacingly. How could such a tiny, beautiful woman push all of his buttons? He grabbed her shoulders firmly, his proximity to her causing her to have to raise her head to meet his eyes. Somehow she managed to make him feel like she was looking down on him. _Irrational!_

"Listen," he explained in his best _because-I'm-the-damn-boss-that's-why_ voice, "you're takin' the bed and that's final!"

"No."

Trip almost shook her. "_No?_" His jaw tightened.

T'Pol opened her mouth, probably to present some other rational and logical argument, but he was on the brink of exploding. So he shut her up the best way he knew how: he planted his lips over hers. The muscles in her back went taut under his hands, but he wasn't about to concede the point just yet, deepening the kiss further instead. His persistence paid off when only a heartbeat later she leaned into him and a half a breath after that she was returning the kiss with hunger. Her fingers danced through his hair in that way that made chills tingle down his spine.

Trip had thought after kissing her the first time that it was like licking a live conduit but this…this was like lying in the middle of the warp core itself, the hair on his body threatening to stand on end with the incredible electric current that passed between them. It was beyond anything he had experienced before and he wanted more—he _needed_ more. She parted her lips to allow his probing tongue entry and he moaned softly in her mouth, but it still wasn't enough. He wanted her, he needed her—he ached for her.

Lost in the haze of passion, Trip didn't feel T'Pol's delicate fingers move from his hair to his face at first. It was when they rested on the familiar points along his temple and jaw that coherent thought finally surfaced. He shoved her away, despite his body's protest at the loss of physical contact. Anger and betrayal overwhelmed the hormones coursing through his veins.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doin'!" he demanded furiously.

T'Pol blinked at him looking…confused? _No way. No damn way!_ There was no mistaking where her fingers were.

"Don't look at me like that!" he snapped at her. "I'm not stupid, T'Pol. What the hell was that about?"

This time she looked…upset? Damn it was hard reading a Vulcan's expression sometimes. "I apologize. It was…instinct, my action."

"So what, you mind meld just before you…" Trip let the words trail off. He wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen between them tonight.

"Not exactly," she replied.

He waited for her to explain further, crossing his arms. Before she spoke, her eyes darted to the bed. Was that longing he saw in her eyes? Definitely not. That was just his hormones trying to regain control.

"The mating bond—" she cut off, drawing a deep breath. "The marriage bond is far more complicated than a simple mind meld—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Trip interrupted. _Marriage?_ _Did she just say marriage bond?_ "Don't you think that's a little fast for only knowin' each other for three days?"

Her eyebrow climbed her forehead. "I am unfamiliar with human mating customs, but Vulcans are typically betrothed in childhood and rarely meet before they are to be bonded for life. From my perspective it is not so hasty a step." She glanced at the bed again with that same expression, almost making him lose his train of thought.

_Snap out of it Trip!_ He berated himself.

"Well, darlin', we humans prefer to get to know someone real well before we make a lifetime commitment." Marriage after only three days—most of which had been spent as her prisoner? It was ridiculous. "I mean, don't get me wrong. After kisses like that, I don't know that I'll ever want another woman, but…_marriage_?"

"Be that as it may, if you wish to be my mate then it is necessary to do it the Vulcan way."

"Necessary? You've got to be kiddin' me. I'll be damned if I'm gonna be the one bendin' over backwards here." That flicker flashed across her eyes. _Well, fine. She can get cranky if she wants to._

"I am willing to compromise—when it is possible. I assure you that it is not possible in this case."

"All right, explain exactly why it's necessary for this marriage…this marriage thing to happen before we can…" Her eyes finished the sentence for him as they drifted to the bed once more. He wished she wouldn't do that. Despite his anger and frustration, he still wanted her and every time she looked at the bed his hormones threatened to overwhelm him.

"If we were to mate without the bond, it is likely that it will eventually endanger the females aboard this ship."

Trip stared at her. What the hell was that supposed to mean? "What!"

"Vulcans have emotions, Trip—" _Damn time for her to actually start using his name!_ "—they are extremely volatile, more so than human emotions—much more so. We must suppress them to keep from destroying ourselves and those around us."

"Okay, what does this have to do with endangerin' the other women on the ship?"

"If you would allow me to finish, I will explain it to you." Trip had the nagging feeling that this was going to be a long explanation. He leaned against the wall, nodding for her to go on. T'Pol's chest rose in a deep, silent breath. "A bond is similar to a mind meld. In fact often there are residual effects from a mind meld that are similar to a bond. That is how you found my quarters on the V'Laran."

"Are you sayin' that we had some kind of psychic connection?"

"That is a simplistic description, but yes. A bond would permanently link our minds."

"Wait a minute, permanent? You mean you'd always be in my head?"

"As you would always be a presence in mine. There are techniques I can teach you to make the…invasion minimal." Again her attention turned briefly to the bed.

He had the urge to lick his lips, his body responding in anticipation. Visions danced through his mind of what he'd like to do with her on that bed, attempting to trample what little hold he had on rational thought. "Stop looking at the bed!" Trip bellowed in frustration. "I can't think when you do that!"

Her eyes snapped to his and she looked surprised, as if she hadn't known that she'd been doing it. _Dammit!_ Knowing it was subconscious did nothing to quell his hormones. In fact knowing that she had sex on the brain made him want to relieve her of her clothing right now—bond be damned. Trip shook his head, trying to regain control of his higher brain functions. His restraint was tenuous at best.

"What…" he cleared his throat, his tongue felt thick. "I still don't see why having this bond has anything to do with the other gals on the ship."

"You don't?" T'Pol stared at him with an obvious disbelief.

She thought he should know. _She thought he should know!_ Well, if she'd stop looking at his damn bed like that maybe he could figure it out. What had she told him so far? Vulcans have extremely volatile emotions that they must suppress or else it destroys them and a bond would be a permanent psychic link between the two of them.

Nope. Nothing that made any sense anyway.

"Sorry, you lost me."

Another soft sigh escaped her full lips. "One of the most volatile emotions for Vulcans is jealousy."

"Yeah, but you suppress it, right?"

"Among other Vulcans it is not difficult to suppress emotions. Your ways are very…alien to me." She took another deep breath. "Before today I have never experienced jealousy. I am able to suppress it, but the fact that it has surfaced concerns me."

"Oh." Understanding struck him like lightening. "You don't trust me, then."

"Trip," she said in exasperated tones. Did she just roll her eyes? "This isn't about trust. It is my nature, my _Vulcan_ nature."

Trip sucked the inside of his cheeks. Why couldn't things just go nicely now? Why couldn't he make mad, passionate love to her without it being so complicated? If he didn't know better, he'd think the universe was conspiring against him. His head was starting to ache.

"So what you're saying is we have two options." He held up a finger. "One, we sleep together without this bond and you might go crazy and attack every woman that looks at me." He raised another finger. "Or two, we get hitched, save the women on the ship but we're stuck in each other's heads for the rest of our lives."

"There is a third option," she replied. Trip felt a pinprick of hope. "We could simply choose not to mate at all. However, without a compelling reason to stay, I would most likely find a way to leave the ship as soon as possible." The pinprick changed to a kick in the gut. _So much for the third option._

Groaning, Trip rubbed his eyes. He muttered a few curses under his breath. He just couldn't win today. He ran the alternatives through his mind. The "not mating" choice wasn't even in the running—his ferocious attraction to her saw to that. Marriage—that was out of the question, not after only three days of knowing each other. But she did seem worried that she might freak out without the bond and she couldn't be lying about that, could she? No, lying about that didn't seem logical.

"Sonofabitch!"

"Have you made a decision?"

"Hold on, now! You gave me a lot to chew on. You can't expect me to make a decision just like that." He snapped his fingers. "I mean, we're talkin' about bein' stuck together for the rest of our lives. Are you even sure you wanna be stuck with an irrational, illogical human bein'?"

"I made my decision when I chose to come with you."

Her words felt like a bucket of cold water dousing him. He stared at her. She wanted to be his…wife? She made that choice when she walked out the door of her quarters with him? The ache in his head grew as conflict rattled him. It was flattering that she was ready to make such a commitment to him—hell, it was far more than flattering. But his human nature balked at the thought of jumping into to something so permanent so quickly. And this bond…being in each other's minds… _Dammit!_ Would she just stop staring his bunk so he could sort things out!

"It would seem that you need more time to consider," she said with one last long glance at the bed. "If you don't mind, I would like to bathe."

"Sure, the bathroom's in there," he muttered, waving a hand towards the door. He plopped down on the bed and rested his head in his hands. The headache was really coming on strong now. He hoped it wouldn't get bad enough to warrant a visit to sickbay. Now wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake?

There was an unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. Trip looked up to find T'Pol shrugging out of her Vulcan uniform, her back to him. He gaped as she pushed her clothing to her waist. His mouth went suddenly dry, and it was a moment before he could find his voice. Her skin is so smooth. The tenuous hold he had on his restraint just became as slippery as an eel.

"T'Pol, what are you doing?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, her hands paused at her hips. "I am disrobing."

"Here?" He swallowed.

"Where else?"

"I just thought…ah…" He licked his lips. "I thought you'd change in the bathroom, for…y'know…privacy."

She cocked her head every so slightly. "There is no need for privacy. I assume that no matter the decision you make, the final result will lead to us mating." She began to pull her uniform down again as she spoke. "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

Trip closed his eyes. Uncomfortable? In a manner of speaking it did—in the way he liked. A grin began to spread his lips. So, she assumed they were going to "mate" despite what his decision would be? At least they were on the same wavelength there.

He opened his eyes again and almost jumped off the bed. She stood facing him, fully nude now, with a raised eyebrow. He blinked in surprise. Well hell, if she was going to show off, then he'd be damned if he wasn't going to appreciate it. His gaze took in every inch of her, from her full bosom to her taut stomach to her… He was only barely aware of his tongue pushing the inside of his cheek in appreciation. Goddamn, she was more than he imagined. A hell of a lot more.

"Is it always gonna be like this?" he asked as he slowly stood.

"Like what?"

"You backin' me into a corner until you get what you want?" He gave her another appraising look and suddenly realized, why not? Would it be so bad to be stuck with her as a wife? Was it really that big of a deal to share his mind with her? She already knew his deepest secret.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Her expression was so innocent that Trip threw back his head and laughed.

"Like hell you don't!" He placed his hands on her shoulders, gently caressing her silky skin before pulling her to him. She smelled damn good for needing a shower, like an exotic spice.

Yes, he could live with this for the rest of his life.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear before kissing it softly. "Let's bond, darlin'"

* * *

_**v.**_

He made a strange sound as he slept, this human. _Her_ human. T'Pol lay wrapped in a tangled heap with him on the floor, her hand gently exploring his muscular chest. The contact was no less powerful than the first time she'd touched his bare skin, but it didn't threaten to overwhelm her with burning desire—at least not as strongly as before they'd consummated their relationship. Her appetite was still not fully sated, but her mate needed rest. He hadn't agreed, saying something about being able to "go all night," but there was no denying the fatigue she felt from him through their bond.

That was intriguing.

She had not expected that the bond could be so strong with a human. Bonds varied from couple to couple with Vulcans, but humans had no telepathic ability. She hadn't even been sure that it was possible for more than a one-sided connection. When she felt the force of his mind in hers, she had been surprised, pleasantly so, and overwhelmed. His mind was intense, a swirling mix of ever changing thoughts and emotions. She would need to teach him shielding techniques soon, but for now she enjoyed the chaos that he brought. It was so…different from the calm order of her mind.

There were other benefits from their strong link as well—very pleasing benefits. She allowed her mind to recall the few hours before he had fallen asleep. Remembering the way he ran his hands all over her body, feeling his awe at her beauty, his growing hunger for her. Her own need fed on his, spiraling upward to destroy all rational reasoning until waves of ecstasy washed over them both. Recalling the moment he realized that he was her first, which resulted in another moment of growing passion. Even as she relived those intense hours, she felt the burn begin to grow in her middle.

He shifted in his sleep, turning into her soft touch, and mumbled something incoherent. She studied his face, noting how the hard lines seemed to soften as he slept. Contentment was the only emotion that he was emitting now and it made her pull herself closer to him, intensifying their connection. There was no doubt that she had made the correct choice. She shivered slightly at the thought of whom she had chosen him over. The image of Koss, enraged with hatred as he assaulted her mind, flashed before her eyes. Her shaking intensified and she attempted to smother the memory.

"Darlin'?" Trip's groggy voice whispered in her ear. His eyes fluttered open, filled with concern. "What's the matter?" he asked, raising himself up on his elbow.

"I am fine." It wasn't completely untrue—she would be fine once she meditated.

"No, you're not," his said as alarm flooded the bond. "You're thinking about that bastard, Koss!"

"It was unintentional. I did not mean to distress you."

"What the hell are you apologizin' for?" His anger almost overtook her. There was something else…concern. Deep concern for her well-being. "What did he do to you?"

Before she could answer, he picked up the memory that was at the surface of her mind. His face darkened and the bond burned with the a dangerous outrage that was swelling within him as well as…guilt. Guilt? Why would he feel guilt?

As if hearing that thought—perhaps he had—Trip answered, "Because I should've gotten to you sooner. Before…" he paused as another surge of rage pulsed through their link, "…before he could do that to you."

"Your guilt is not logical," she said. For some reason she found deep comfort in his need to protect her. "You could not have known what his intentions were."

"Damn your logic!" he snapped. "I should've been there. If I'd only listened to that…residual effect sooner…" He left the sentence unfinished. "I'm sorry, T'Pol."

His guilt was confusing and she did not know how to make him understand that it was misplaced. "He is dead, Trip." She said the words as much to assure herself as to placate him. Koss was dead. He could no longer harm her.

Trip wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. The guilt still lingered in his mind, but there was a swelling of affection now. It soothed her like a healing balm, and in that moment she wondered how she had managed without him before.

_I feel the same way, darlin'._

She looked up at him when she felt that thought in her mind and found him smiling down at her. "This is gonna take some gettin' used to," he said.

"Indeed."

He chuckled softly. "I guess that means there won't be any secrets between us."

"Perhaps now you will tell me why you were deep in Vulcan space."

His smile dropped and his body stiffened in response to the suspicion that trickled through the bond. "I can't tell you that."

"Why not? I am a member of this crew now." She opened herself more fully to him in an attempt to show that her intentions were not nefarious.

"Nice try," he snorted. "But you're not officially Starfleet. You're a civilian consultant. Even if you were an officer, you don't have the security clearance." His mind was guarded, but she sensed there was another reason that he refused to answer her question. Something to do with how she might react if she found out.

Intriguing.

"I am merely curious. What could be so important that you were willing to face torture over it?" Again she sent assurance across the link between them.

He shook his head. "T'Pol—"

"I could perform another mind-meld."

His face radiated with the shock and anger she felt through the bond. "I'll throw your ass in the brig if you do!"

T'Pol knew that she should not rise to the bait he seemed to constantly lay before her when they argued, but it was too tempting. "Not if you do not recall the mind-meld."

This time he sat up all the way. "Why you—!" He cut off when he suddenly realized that she had no intention of melding with him. His eyes narrowed in accusation. "I can't believe you did that—let me think you'd do somethin' like that."

"I merely stated what I could do, not what I intended. You drew your own conclusions." Inexplicably, she found the realization that their miscommunication continued despite the bond illogically pleasing.

_Yeah, it's kinda fun when we fight, isn't it?_

_Indeed._

"I am still curious," she stated when he smiled again. With their bond, it was inevitable that some of his thoughts would slip and eventually she would learn the answer. It would be preferable if he would tell her now.

"Dammit, woman! Get your logic outta my head!" He demanded, though amusement laced his words. He studied her face for a long moment, and surprisingly all she could sense were half formed thoughts. "Y'know, there's an old sayin' where I come from: 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.'"

T'Pol was momentarily confused, the phrase making no sense to her, but soon she saw the image of a small, flying insect in her mind. Abruptly she tasted the sweet flavor of what she now knew to be honey, followed by the bitter, acrid taste of vinegar. The analogy was clear now.

"You're catching my drift, darlin'." He laughed as she sent an impression of how she might convince him to divulge that secret. His laughter was a pleasing sound but she was more pleased when it cut off suddenly with a gasp as she began to demonstrate exactly what her plans were.

_Y'know, I think I could fall in love with you right now, wife._

Wife. She paused when the thought touched her mind. Wife. That word gave her an irrational, overwhelming feeling of contentment. In fact, she could say that it made her…happy.

_And I, you, t'hyla._

Those were the last coherent thoughts they shared before they felt the burn of desire swell and crash over them, losing themselves to their mutual passion once more.


	17. EPILOGUE Questions Answered

_Disclaimer: See first chapter  
__Rating: T (for language)_

* * *

**Epilogue**—_Questions Answered_

_**i.**_

Jon stared at the door as it slid shut with a soft hiss. He grunted as he rubbed his chin. Debriefing Tucker had gone pretty much as he had expected. The mission was a bust. What was annoying was how content the young engineer seemed. Jon hadn't seen him like this since… well, since before the accident. Actually, that wasn't true. Tucker had never been this content. During the debriefing, the first officer's expression would often change to amusement despite reporting an absolute failure. If Jon wasn't sure that the Vulcan had something to do with Tucker's demeanor, he might have suspected that the younger man had been happy that the mission had failed.

But that wasn't possible.

The two men may not see eye to eye, they might have an uneasy alliance, but there was no suspicion in Jon's mind that Tucker was a spy for the likes of Admiral Black—no matter the insinuations that Reed had made about more being on the ship. The young engineer's hatred for Reed was all too real. After all, it was Reed that had tried to kill the commander in the first place. No, Tucker was not on of Black's lackeys.

Jon blew out a loud sigh. Now he had the unfortunate task of contacting Admiral Forrest and reporting the failure of the mission. At least the Vulcans had never learned what it was. If they had… It was no use getting worked up over something that hadn't happened.

"Hoshi!" the captain barked as he pressed the button to the comm.

"_Sato here."_

"Get me Admiral Forrest."

"_Yes, sir."_

As he waited, Jon thought of what piece of bad news to drop first. Reed's mutiny? Hm…maybe it was better not to bring up that one at all. The admiral would find out soon enough, but explaining that as well as explaining taking on a Vulcan crew member after the failure of the mission might put Jon in a dangerous position. Forrest could decide that the captain wasn't worth his protection.

_Dammit!_ It was supposed to have been a simple mission. Go to the coordinates and pick up a cloaking device as well as information about the Vulcans—damning information about their plans to attack the empire. Jon snorted in disgust. It was information that was missing from the database that T'Pol had given him, but that didn't mean it didn't exist.

T'Pol.

Jon didn't trust the petite Vulcan, no matter how much she claimed that she was a deserter. He should have killed her after taking the disk, but that would have been the end of any alliance with Tucker. Not that he needed it anymore with Reed out of the picture…but still, the engineer had almost killed him once. There was no telling how Tucker would react if he lost his little Vulcan. It was better to just watch her for now, keep her close and if she was a spy…well, that was something he'd be happy to take care of.

"_Sato to Archer."_

"Yes."

"_I have the admiral for you, sir." _

"Patch it through, En—Lieutenant," he replied, almost forgetting the promotion he'd given her. It was well deserved after the way she'd handled Reed, and the celebratory sex afterward… Jon grinned widely. He was sure he'd never underestimate Hoshi again.

The symbol of the empire winked out on his monitor, replaced by the grim face of Admiral Forrest. The man never looked anything other than grim, but then again, neither did anyone else who had been in Starfleet long enough to have to fight for their promotions and defend their positions.

"Archer," the admiral said in greeting. "You're a little late, aren't you?"

"Let's just say something came up that required my immediate attention and leave it at that."

"Yes, I've heard about that. Admiral Black is rumored to be throwing temper tantrums," replied Forrest with a hint of amusement—dark amusement. Jon grimaced. _So much for avoiding any discussion of the mutiny_. Forrest spoke before he could explain, "We'll talk about that later. Right now I want a report of the mission."

"You should have known better than to trust aliens that refuse to show their faces," sneered the captain. He wasn't going to take all the blame if he could help it.

"The Romulans claim that they don't have the ability to transmit video with their communications."

"Likely story." Jon snorted.

"It's not your job to question your superiors, Captain," growled the admiral. "Now report."

Stifling the urge to sigh, Jon explained the failure of the mission, watching with growing dread as Forrest's face darkened with each word. The man turned almost purple with rage when he got to the part about Tucker bringing back a Vulcan—a Vulcan that Jon had made a member of the crew.

It was an hour later when Forrest's voice became hoarse from yelling that the connection mercifully ended. By then Jon had a growing migraine. His position in the admiral's good graces was shaky now, and he was going to have to make himself invaluable again.

In the meantime, it was time to head back to Jupiter station for a new weapons refit. At least Jon couldn't fail with that order.

* * *

_**ii.**_

She stood on the vast balcony, resting her hands on the warm carved stone rail. Before her lay the vista of a rolling red desert, broken only by the rising peak of Mount Seleya in the distance. It was uncommonly quiet for this time of day. Usually there were others bustling about with business in the large office that lay through the double doors behind her—but not right now. She had sent them away with an understanding that she was not to be disturbed for at least an hour. T he quiet was soothing and she had much to think about.

There was a soft click as one of the doors unlatched, but Chancellor T'Pau chose not to move, continuing to study the vast, barren sands. "It has not been an hour yet," she said in cool tones.

"I apologize, Chancellor, but we have just received the latest report from the V'laran." She recognized the voice of her assistant, Kov. The young Vulcan often had only a tenuous control on his emotions, but he was surprisingly insightful—his advice had always been crucial to her success as a leader.

She turned to face the portly Vulcan and held out her hand. He placed the data pad he had been holding in it and with a slight incline of his head began to walk away. "No, stay." A faint trace of a smile graced his lips as he obeyed. What had pleased him in that moment she couldn't say, and it was illogical to speculate.

The information in the report was lengthy and detailed, as it should be, but there were only three points that were important to her. The captives had escaped, Commander Koss was dead, and Sub-Commander T'Pol was missing, presumably taken hostage by the humans. Not a pleasing report at all.

She looked up at Kov, who was still smiling, and asked, "Have you read this?" She already knew the answer, but formality must be observed even if it was just the pretense of it.

He inclined his head. "I have. We haven't received a report from the… other ship yet. It would be illogical to act without that information."

T'Pau turned her gaze back to the burning landscape. She felt regret. It was an emotion that she should not have allowed herself to indulge in, but she had known Sub-Commander T'Pol. Would it not be proper to grieve for one that had sacrificed everything without knowing the importance of it? _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one._ The young chancellor was sure that T'Pol would have understood.

Inhaling deeply, T'Pau suppressed her regret and turned to face her assistant once more. His expression was more befitting a Vulcan now as he studied her.

"Chancellor?"

"It would seem that now we must wait."

* * *

_**iii.**_

More than half a year ago, two events transpired that irrevocably altered the life of Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker the third. The first, and more tragic in his opinion, was the death of his younger sister, Lizzie Tucker. She had died during a transport accident while on her way to the lunar colony. Lizzie had given up a lucrative offer at one of the biggest architect firms to become a philanthropist. The lunar colony was to be the first of many places that Lizzie would be designing and building housing for the more destitute members of the empire.

In a matter of seconds she was gone. When Trip got the message from his mother he felt as if he lost the ability to breathe. She was so young and full of life…and so compassionate. Her death was nothing more than a brief story in the news feeds, the accident downplayed in order to keep the people's faith in the Empire's interstellar public transportation system.

Less than two months after that tragedy, Trip went to work one morning and woke up several days later in sickbay with the memories of a clone swirling in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't completely shut away Sim's memories, thoughts and feelings. Sim had seen the universe through different eyes, eyes that saw past all the Empire's propaganda, eyes that saw flaws in the system…eyes that Trip had inherited. He found that he was no longer passionate about serving the Empire, that he no longer believed Starfleet was the embodiment of all that was great and powerful.

The boy who had such great and unrealistic dreams finally grew up.

How the reformists had discovered the change in his sympathies he never found out, but it was only a month after nearly killing Archer that he was approached with a mission. He accepted without reluctance. It was nothing more than supplying the reformists with information about Enterprise's more top secret assignments. Gradually the requests required more effort from him, sometimes meeting other agents covertly and often monitoring communications between Archer and Forrest.

His latest mission was the most dangerous of all, and he nearly failed when the V'Laran showed up and captured him. Trip had been willing to die to keep his secret. His commitment to the reformation was now as ardent as his love for the Empire had once been.

_Romulans. _Trip snorted. He'd never heard of such aliens. They probably did exist if the Vulcans said they did, but it wasn't Romulans that had contacted Admiral Forrest.

Trip glanced at the set of crystal disks that sat on his desk. Despite their innocuous appearance, they were deadly for Trip to have in his possession. If the Vulcans had learned what he had hidden under their noses…the outcome would have been as bad as if Archer had learned it. What he had said to T'Pol days ago was correct, the Vulcans would never have let him go if he told them the answer to that question: What was he doing in Vulcan space?

On those little disks was the full Vulcan database, the information on them only accessible by the upper echelons in the Vulcan government. They had everything from the locations of all Vulcan ships to the secret listening post hidden beneath the P'Jem monastery. It was information that they would take deadly action to keep out of a human's hands.

Ironically, it was the Vulcans who had given it to him willingly…just as he had left hidden on that moon a copy of the Terran database. The swap was the last act of good faith in the covert alliance between Vulcans and humans. It was the catalyst to start a chain of events that would lead to a major shift in power in this corner of space.

The final plans were also on those disks…plans to overthrow the Emperor's government with the help of the Vulcans. In return, the humans would help subdue the Andorians, who had been a thorn in the pointy-eared aliens' sides for more than a century. Right now the Empire had a tenuous alliance with the Andorians and if someone discovered that sitting on Trip's desk was a strategy for a large scale attack against them…

He would be glad when they were no longer in his hands.

Earlier in the day, Trip had assigned himself the repairs on the shuttlepod. Normally he would have left the task to someone like Biggs, but he needed an excuse to access the small craft without raising any eyebrows.

Once alone in the launching bay, he had removed an exterior panel that had fortunately escaped damaged. Deep inside were the disks, safe from the searches of those officers aboard the V'Laran. Not all Vulcans knew of the growing alliance yet and wouldn't know until everything had been confirmed.

He had placed the disk in a hidden compartment in his tool kit before getting on with the repairs to the shuttlepod. Now they sat on his desk awaiting their next journey.

It was time to contact the admiral.

He activated a program that he had written in order to mask any communications he made from his quarters. It was a program that he had to update constantly in order stay one step ahead of Hoshi. Unlike Archer and Reed, the engineer had never underestimated the _Enterprise_'s comm officer.

The bearded face of Admiral Gardner blinked onto his monitor, the man he had come to know well over the last several months. Trip might even call him a friend. Gardner gave him a hesitantly eager smile. "Commander Tucker, I'm glad to see that you're alive."

"That makes two of us," Trip replied with a snort.

"Well?"

"I've got 'em."

Gardner nodded soberly. "Good work. Enterprise has been ordered to Jupiter Station for a weapon refit. When you arrive, I'll transmit further instructions." Trip nodded his understanding. "I've heard you've been through hell for this. Don't think you'll be forgotten when the reformation succeeds."

_Forgotten?_ Trip didn't care all that much about being remembered after all of this. He had the sudden urge to disappear and live out the rest of his life with his new wife, maybe even have babies—if that was possible. Being forgotten sounded just fine.

"I want out," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"You know we can't let you go," Gardner said with narrowed eyes.

Trip shook his head. "I'll do what needs to be done, but when this is over, I want to be left alone. I don't want any special honors. I just want to live a quiet life—outside of Starfleet."

"Trip," Gardner replied, his tone softening, "You deserve more."

Trip sighed. "I've got more than I deserve right now. I just want to live to enjoy it."

The admiral's brow furrowed in confusion. "All right, all right. Until next time, Commander Tucker."

The monitor turned dark once more and he blew out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. It was almost over.

No. Trip shook his head. With these disks, it was just beginning. It would be a long time before he could fade into obscurity.

A familiar tingle touched his mind and he opened the door before she rang the chime. T'Pol had gone to her now cleared out quarters to meditate earlier and her presence in his mind had practically disappeared. Trip had felt… empty. It was not an easy admission for him to make.

He had been relieved, however, to be "alone" as he dealt with Gardner. Why he hadn't told her last night about the real mission, he didn't know. The secret would be impossible to hide for long, though, and Trip thought he might as well lay all his cards on the table now.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow as she stepped past him into the room, wearing a robe over silky pajamas. He grinned, taking her in his arms and enjoying the electrifying current that passed between them. Damn, but he loved to touch her. She responded by pressing her head into his chest.

"You look good, darlin'," he murmured into her hair.

"The fabric is agreeable," she replied.

Trip chuckled and squeezed her. He wished that he could stay longer in this moment, but he was sure that T'Pol would pick something up from their bond. "Listen, darlin'," he said, pulling back. "We need to talk."

"I know."

Trip's eyes widened. "You know?"

"Yes. I am able to keep my mind from you… but you have not yet developed the ability to keep your mind from me. I could sense your thoughts during my meditation."

"Ah, hell." Trip ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before."

"Your reticence is reasonable."

"So you're not angry with me?"

"I am Vulcan. I do not get angry."

Trip threw back his head and laughed. "That's right, I forgot." He sobered after a few seconds. "Do you understand what I'm doin', though?"

He felt her tentatively pick through his mind, seeking out memories, thoughts, and feelings relating to his choice to work for Admiral Gardner. It was a gentle touch, where, unlike the mind-meld, she wouldn't force open the thoughts she sought but rather waited for his permission to access them. And he let her. This was the last secret he had kept from her, and it was a relief to let it go.

"I understand," she said after a few moments. He felt her withdraw from his mind partially. "Your logic appears to be sound, despite the emotions it is based on."

That comment gave him another laugh.

_Am I so amusing, t'hyla?_

_More than you know, darlin'._

"I will help you," she spoke out loud.

Trip frowned. "No. I can't risk you like that."

"Trip—" Oh sure, use his own name against him… It still made him want to smile when he heard it, especially during—"Trip!" He felt a slight exasperation emanating from her. "The success of your mission affects my people as well. You can not ask me to do nothing."

_I can't bear the thought of you risking your life, darlin'. Not after all that I went through to get you in the first place._

_I share your concern, t'hyla. But we must do what needs to be done._

Trip stared at her for a long moment, taking in her beautiful, delicate features, sensing her resolve in his mind. There was no point in arguing with her.

_Nor should you ever disagree with me._ Her thought was laced with amusement.

_But ya gotta admit, sometimes it's fun to argue. Especially when we make up_.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Perhaps we should practice 'making up' in anticipation of the arguments we are sure to have in the near future."

Images began pouring through the bond of the different ways T'Pol wanted to 'practice.' It was becoming difficult to think straight, especially when his body ached to get started.

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed in a thick voice.

He abruptly forgot about the weight that rested on his shoulders—the weight of his part in saving the empire from itself. There would be time later to worry about the disks sitting on his desk.

For now he was simply a man about to show his wife just how much he was growing to love her.

~The END~

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for coming along for the ride! The story continues in the sequel, _Dark Echoes. _


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